


I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant: The Jamison Fawkes Story

by RatOuttaHell



Series: (Un)Planned Parenthood [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Inconsistent Accents, M/M, Menstruation, Pregnancy, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10369293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatOuttaHell/pseuds/RatOuttaHell
Summary: Junkrat had mixed feelings about his-semi voluntary recruitment into Overwatch, but he's got even more coming when he finds out that he's got a bun in the oven. A little ratling. A piglet. One on the way. Okay, so he's pregnant. This fic covers the whole shebang, the whole pregnancy dealio, from beginning to birth. There's some comedy, some drama, some angst, some fluff. Some rats. All the joys of the miracle of new life, etc., etc.-no set update schedule-





	1. Prologue: I've Fallen to the Communists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat hasn't had his period in a while. It comes back and it fucking sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so when I first started writing this fic, I wasn't even intending on posting it. not only was I unsure about posting an overwatch fic (and a trans mpreg one at that), but a lot of this felt really personal to me. not only have I bestowed upon junkrat approximately one million of my mental health issues, I've also got some personal feelings about pregnancy. as a trans person (though not a trans man) who's been on and off testosterone, who's had to sign consent forms saying that I was okay if I never got pregnant because of hrt, and who's experienced massive dysphoria from being off t, this shit is kind of... important to me. as silly as it sounds. so, basically, I hope you like this fic and don't let me bearing my soul influence you or anything (lol). 
> 
> also I've got some leeway on chapters but there's no set update schedule so, have fun with that.
> 
> *warning: this chapter is about periods, but it's not super plot important, so if you want to skip to the next chapter, that's fine*

Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes growled in frustration as he stared down at the bloodstains in his underwear. Or, he liked to think of it as a growl. His growls always came out half yip, half muffled scream. Not very intimidating. But he guessed that was why he had Roadhog – so he wouldn't have to be intimidating.

Right now, he wasn't so focused on his inadequate growl (though it did cross his mind because what didn't cross his mind). He was more concerned with the mess in his boxers. When his low‑down guts had started stabbing him like fucking knives, he had desperately hoped against all reason that it was just food poisoning. Or some kind of deadly rupture, or the radiation catching up with him or something. Anything but this fucking bullshit. Usually, with the radiation of the Outback and the malnutrition and the juice he'd been taking on-and-off for years, his period was spotty at its worst. But between his recent stay in Hanamura and being “off again” with the juice, it was back in full force. Eyes still cast downwards, he heard a surprisingly gentle knock on the door of the hotel bathroom. Though, Hog was careful to be gentle when he wasn't actively trying to destroy something, so it maybe wasn't that surprising.

“You alright in there Rat?” asked that deep growl of a voice from the other side. It sounded softer, somehow, without the mask filtering it. Junkrat kind of liked it, actually. Scratch that. He loved it. Almost as much as he loved Roadhog's unmasked face. And, not to get soppy, but he wanted to personally thank every country that wasn't irradiated to hell and back for making this moment possible. But it still wasn't enough to make this situation any less bloody awful. Heh. Bloody awful.

“Fuckin great,” Junkrat replied, clutching at his abdomen as another knife stabbed into his guts. He moaned slightly, and he heard a doubtful growl from Roadhog. “Foine, foine! It's bloody shark week in here.” A confused grunt. Junkrat sighed. “Y'know, the red scare, crimson horror, red badge of courage. The curse. Red sky at morning.” Silence. Finding himself exhausted of all euphemisms, Junkrat let out another half-scream. “Me monthly! I'm on me fuckin period!”

“Oh,” said Roadhog simply.

“That's it?” seethed Junkrat. “'Oh'?” He could practically hear his bodyguard shrugging from the other side of the door.

“Forgot.” And Junkrat couldn't even pretend that didn't make him feel a bit better. Roadhog knew, of course. Roadhog was the one who, once they pulled their first heist and got the money together, had threatened (er, pressured, that was the word they used) the good surgeon into giving him his top surgery. When they were able, when it wasn't too risky or complicated, Roadie helped him nab the juice that staved off his monthly cycle.

Junkrat had tried to hide the offending bodyparts from Roadhog, had even managed managed for all of a week before his bodyguard accidentally spotted him peeling off a worn-out, torn-up, sweat- and blood-stained binder. Rat had proceeded to spill his guts to the closest thing he had to a friend. He'd be lying if he pretended there weren't some tears. Roadhog, who had found himself warming up to his boss much quicker than expected, had told him they'd get him a new binder. So hearing that it had slipped Roadhog's mind that Junkrat would even have a period eased some of the tension in his shoulders and back.

Tension which immediately returned when his organs spazzed and doubled him over again. He must've groaned, because Roadhog spoke up again.

“Anything I can do, Boss?” he asked. Junkrat would've gotten melty at being called boss if he hadn't been hurting so much. He tried to think through the loop of “shit fuck shit goddamn fuck shit bugger me oh fuck” that was going through his head. Or maybe it was actually coming out of his mouth. Oops.

“Errands,” he managed.

“What d'you need?” Fuck. More thinking.

“Rags,” he said. “Uh, pads, tampons, whatever.” He sucked in a breath. “New underwear,” he said, his face reddening. “Snacks. Don't care what. Somethin disgusting. And somethin to stop the goddamn pain.” He squinched his eyes shut and tugged at his hair. “Please.”

“Sure Boss. Be right back.” A moment of silence. “Love you.” Junkrat teared up a bit. Didn't matter how many times he heard it, he didn't think he was going to get used to that one.

“Love you, too.” He heard a grunt of acknowledgment, then heavy footsteps and the hotel room door opening and closing. Once Hog was safely out, Junkrat pulled up his shorts and let himself fall onto the tile bathroom floor in the fetal position. His limbs clanked and clattered against the ceramic tiles.

He couldn't stop thinking about how, with the juice, he wouldn't be dealing with this at all. Once he stopped (which happened periodically; he didn't exactly have the most stable lifestyle), he always had a hard time to remembering to try to start again. Or it was too many steps to get it and he got lost in the middle of them. Especially when he and Roadhog were never in the same place for more than what felt like three seconds. Bombs were easy. Coordinating shit enough to get T was hard. His scattered brain was just… like that. Always had been. Lying on the cold, hard floor, he started to convulse with dry sobs. His shitty fucking brain was always like that – over-emotional and moving from feeling to feeling in a matter of minutes. His period just made it worse. The side of him that couldn't stay still was always at war with the side that was just tired from living on the run for so long. From having to look out for murderers and thieves and police and people who would torture him for years until he finally let out his secrets and they killed him. Rat had always been twitchy – hard not to be for a starved kid in the Outback – but it was worse to know that the paranoia he'd always harbored was actually verifiable.

He must've fallen asleep at some point during his agony, because the sound of another gentle knock on the door jolted him awake with an almost violent inhalation of breath. Junkrat wiped a small trail of drool off his face before moaning pitifully in response.

“Rat?” said Roadhog from outside the door. “I got the stuff you wanted.”

“Yeah?” asked Junkrat weakly.

“Yeah,” answered Roadhog. There was a long pause. “Door's locked. You gotta let me in, boss.”

“Roight,” said Junkrat. He planted his arm on the floor and pushed himself up, groaning in the process. He had known that this moment would come – the moment when he had to get out of the fetal position and finally stand – but he hadn't been ready for it. For a minute, he swore to God that cramps hurt more than losing his arm and leg. He knew it wasn't true, but it made him feel less like a pansy for being so debilitated by his own uterus. When he unlocked the door and crack it open, Roadhog holding the plastic bags of convenience-store goods looked like Saint Peter welcoming him through the gates of heaven. Which was great, because like hell was that ever gonna happen. Junkrat would've cackled at the thought if he hadn't felt so miserable. And embarrassed.

“Thanks mate,” he mumbled, blushing and not meeting Roadhog's eyes as he snatched the bags from his bodyguard's hands. He scurried back inside, slamming the door behind him. A moment or two later, after Junkrat had had time to put a tampon in and replace his underwear (and mourn the bloody state of his shorts), there was another knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” asked Roadhog. Junkrat groaned and buried his face in his hands, ashamed, but aware that letting Roadhog in was probably the right choice.

“Yeah,” he said meekly. The door creaked open and 550lbs of muscle and fat and comfort stepped into the bathroom, which suddenly seemed much smaller by comparison. Rather than talk, he sat down on the floor and started rummaging through the plastic bags. He pulled out a pill bottle that looked positively minuscule in his large hand.

“Take any of these yet?” he asked. Without looking up, Junkrat shook his head. He heard the sound of water running.

“Hand,” said Roadhog gruffly. Obediently, Junkrat held out his hand. Roadhog deposited two pills, small and oval and blue, into it, and Junkrat tossed them back into his throat. “Water,” said Roadhog, and Junkrat took the cup, even though he had already swallowed the pills dry.

“Bottle says to take two at first, then a third if you need it,” Roadhog explained. “Tell me how you're feeling after thirty minutes.” Junkrat nodded, embarrassment coloring his face as he felt tears slipping down his cheeks. Roadhog laid a careful (always careful, always so careful with him) on his shoulder. “How're you doing?”

“Forgot how much it hurts, Roadie,” he said, wiping his nose on his arm. “Got blood on me shorts, too.” His favorite shorts, the ones with his and Hog's patches on them, the ones he wore whenever Roadie didn't make him wear something else because they were filthy. And they always _were_ filthy, but they didn't usually have his own blood staining the crotch. The thought made the tears roll even faster. He felt a heavy pair of arms wrap around him.

“The pills will help,” said Roadhog, his voice a low rumble. “Bought you a heating pad, too. Chocolate-covered potato chips. Some of the underwear has skulls on it.” He gave Junkrat a squeeze around the shoulders. “Got a plan, too. You take a shower.” Junkrat groaned, but Roadhog talked over it. “You'll feel better. Then, laundry. For your shorts.”

“It's a set-in stain, Roadie,” Junkrat hiccuped. “Ain't comin' out.”

“Got a stain stick,” replied Roadhog, waving a tiny red cylinder in his large hand. “Blood's got no chance.” A pause while Junkrat sniffled a bit and tried to gather himself enough to actually look at his partner. It didn't work.

“I don't wanna take a shower,” he said miserably.

“You're taking a shower,” said Roadhog flatly. His voice softened. “And I'm staying here until you're done. Want help?”

“Yeah,” said Junkrat. And so he let Roadhog help him take off his prosthetics and turn on the water and get it to the right temperature, help him get into a position where he could lean against the wall and clean himself (because he sure as hell wasn't letting Roadie wash him when he was like this), let him move the hotel toiletries so that Junkrat could reach them more easily. He let Roadhog comfort him when he shouted and yelped because the sensation of the water pounding on his back was too overwhelming. And as he did his best to get himself clean, he made himself think about his partner, who had gotten him chocolate potato chips and underwear and a heating pad and pads and tampons and even a fucking stain stick (whatever the hell that was). And in spite of everything, he smiled a little bit. He'd never had a family before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this chapter brought to you by tide to go)
> 
> I just want to state for the record that I literally looked up a list for period euphemisms and picked the best ones. also I have no idea what I want to do with Junkrat's accent so uh. *shrug*


	2. Chapter One: Junkers never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat and Roadhog go for a preliminary checkup at Overwatch and find out that shit's not as bad as it might've been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that I'd go ahead and post the first (non-prologue) chapter along with the prologue because fuckit it's my fic and why not. no pregnancy yet in this chapter, hold tight just a little bit for the next one! that could take a little while, since I'm writing the rest of the fic while editing current chapters, but I'll try not to make the wait too long. enjoy!
> 
> *this chapter contains mentions of gynecological exams, though none actually take place*

About three months had passed since the First Period Incident when Roadhog and Junkrat were taken in by Overwatch. Or, maybe “taken in” wasn't the right phrase, exactly. More like recruited. Coercively recruited. Maybe even _forcibly_ recruited. Not that it was a bad deal, exactly. They were still criminals, especially since Overwatch wasn't exactly “legit.” But they were _protected_ criminals now. Millions of dollars in bounties over their heads, but if anyone tried to touch them for it, they'd have the full force of a recently-reactivated peacekeeping organization on their hands. That, plus free food and shelter, mostly made up for the new restrictions placed on the Junkers.

Mostly.

When Junkrat and Roadhog were finally escorted into Watchpoint Gibraltar for the first time (assload of paperwork beforehand – luckily Junkrat still remembered his given name, and it was one of the few things he could spell), it really set in that he and his bodyguard wouldn't be able to do whatever they wanted anymore. The place had clean walls and fancy automatic doors and all kinds of scientific equipment that the higher-ups definitely wanted to keep functional. And it was all so… beautifully _breakable_ , which made the matter even worse. While this Tracer girl – the friendly face of Overwatch – escorted them around, Junkrat's fingers twitched with the desire to pull out a grenade and lob it into one of the many nearby labs. It was only Roadhog's tap on the shoulder that snapped his attention back to the young woman in front of him, who was pouting slightly at being ignored, tapping her toe like Rat might if he were waiting on someone.

“If you're quite ready now,” she said, “it's time for you to meet the good doctor.” Sure enough, the three of them stood in front of another set of tall glass doors (so easy to shatter, Junkrat thought to himself), each marked with a medic cross. The young lady – what was her name? Tracy? Leah? She had given more than name, why was that? Junkrat only had one name. Well. Two, he guessed. Three if he counted the one he never wanted.Maybe he couldn't judge. Anyway, the young lady turned and pressed a button that made the doors swoosh right open. That was kind of the sound it made: SWOOSH. But quieter. Loud enough to hear over the constant ringing in his ears, but still quiet. Junkrat liked that sound. Something classy about it.

On the other side of the door was what Junkrat guessed a doctor's office must've looked like outside of Oz. No rust, no dirt, no nothing, all white. Even the better places he'd gone in the Outback, to do things like get his tits or the bad parts of his limbs hacked off, weren't as clean as this place. But that probably wasn't how it was supposed to be. Nothing in Oz was what it was supposed to be, he was figuring out. Inside this perfect white room, with its shiny steel equipment (none of it scrap, not even a bit) and clean-looking table and cabinets full of medicine, stood a slim blonde woman wearing a white coat. She looked at Leah/Tracy/whatever her name was and smiled.

“Thank you for escorting our new friends, Lena,” she said. Lena, right, okay. _Lena_ huffed a little bit at the word “friends.” Junkrat couldn't resist glowering at her briefly for that huff. Lena stuck her tongue out at him and blinked away. All the while, the blonde woman continued smiling, extending her hand.

“I am Dr. Angela Ziegler,” she said. She had an accent from… somewhere fancy-sounding. Somewhere Junkrat had never been before. “I'll be taking care of you here at Gibraltar.” It took Junkrat a second to realize that she probably wanted him to shake her hand. When he did, he slapped his palm into hers and grinned.

“Junkrat here, at your service,” he said. Roadhog nudged him. “Roight, roight, you probably want my 'real' name. Jamison Fawkes, for ya.” He wouldn't bother with the _old_ old name, the one no one had called him since he was a teenager. That was the fake one, and it was bad enough that he had to sign it on papers to get to this doctor's office in the first place. Dr. Ziegler shook his hand and looked towards Roadhog, who didn't even bother to extend his. He didn't like touching people if he wasn't trying to kill them. Or if they weren't Junkrat. Junkrat smiled a little bit. Made him feel special.

“Mako,” rumbled Roadhog. “Rutledge.” Junkrat snapped his fingers as though just remembering something. Which was actually the case, as it turned out.

“That's it!” he said, grinning widely. “Mako! Great name, Roadie!” The doctor furrowed her brow in consternation.

“Forgive me,” she said. “But I was under the impression that you had known each other for several years?” The end of her sentence was questioning, careful.

“Mmhmm,” hummed Junkrat, rocking on his heel. “Just a little forgetful, I am. Bit touched in the head.” He tapped at his skull. “Always have been. Well, since I can remember. But I guess I can't remember _that_ , either!” He laughed shrilly, but the doctor's eyebrows only knit closer. Once his laughter had died down, he added, “I guess you'll get to find out all about it, now that you're me doc and all.”

“Right,” said Dr. Ziegler, straightening her spine slightly as though just now remembering her professionalism. “That brings us to examinations, then. Mr. Fawkes, I thought I would see you first.” That made Junkrat's stomach churn, just a little. He'd never been to doctors for a regular examination – just emergency visits. He didn't like the idea of a stranger with fancy tools looking at his body all over. He bit his lip, twisted his fingers together.

“I'll stay,” said Roadhog, in a voice that was reassuring to Junkrat, but likely the opposite to anyone else. Lo and behold, Dr. Ziegler looked moderately startled by the announcement.

“I'm afraid I have to see you and Mr. Fawkes individually,” she explained. “It's just a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality. Since Mr. Fawkes is an adult...” Junkrat gripped at Roadhog's hand, strong enough that it might hurt someone smaller and less… Roadhog.

“He stays,” he said firmly, just barely keeping a quaver out of his voice. “He's me bodyguard, so he stays.” After considering for a moment, the doctor (and Junkrat was already starting to lose track of her name – she had a nametag on, but aside from a few words, mostly related to explosives, he was pretty shaky on reading) nodded her head.

“It's a bit unorthodox,” she said. “But I suppose the two of you could be present for one another's examinations.” Junkrat felt his muscles relax, and he grinned up at Roadhog, who grunted in approval. He guessed at the expression Roadie was wearing under the mask – relief, maybe, or something cool, something “I wasn't going to let her stop me.” Junkrat could picture either one, which delighted him. There had been a time when his partner's face had been a complete mystery to him, his grunts and groans and one-word answers practically meaningless. Decoding it was something he took extreme pride in.

The doctor (something with a Z, right?) proceeded to ask Junkrat somewhere around a billion questions. Like an interrogation, only nicer, less torture-y. She listened to his heart, hit his knees with a tiny hammer (even the pegleg kicked), stuck things in his ears and made him raise his hands when he heard things, shined lights in his eyes and made him squint at charts, put a band that squeezed around his arm. All the stuff, Junkrat guessed, regular doctors were supposed to do. She took a couple of vials of blood, Junkrat wincing as she did so. She didn't make him take off his clothes, for which he felt extremely grateful. She did, however, make him take off his prosthetics to examine the stumps and hookups, which he complained at until Roadhog put a hand on his shoulder, silently reassuring him that the doctor needed to do this. Reluctantly, he took off his prosthetics – leg, then arm, because that was what made more sense, though he had done it in reverse before by accident – and handed them to the doctor.

“I'm not a mechanic,” said Dr. Z, turning the arm over in her hand. “But we do have one at the Watchpoint. He's currently on a mission, but he could probably build you something more advanced when he returns.”

“Like hell he will!” responded Junkrat, crossing his remaining arm over his chest to clutch at the elbow of the other. “They're me limbs, made 'em meself, and I don't need something more 'advanced.'”

“Merely a suggestion,” said the doctor mildly, returning the limbs to Junkrat, who reattached them with a scowl on his face. “Though you might want to have him do a checkup, at the very least.” Junkrat still didn't like the idea of that, but said nothing in response. “Anyway, here's my medical assessment.”

“Now, there's only so much I can say for certain without the results of your bloodwork back,” she began. “But, even from taking your height and weight and some simple questioning, it seems that you are severely malnourished. Unsurprising, based on your previous lifestyle, but I'm going to write you a recommended diet and prescribe dietary supplements. You seem to be hard of hearing in your left ear, and you mentioned tinnitus–” Junkrat stared blankly. “The ringing in your ears. We can fit you for a hearing aid, if you would like, but that's your choice. The good news here is that, for someone who has been exposed to chronic, lifelong radiation, you seem to be in relatively good health.” Junkrat clapped his hands together and looked up at his bodyguard.

“Hear that, Roadie? I'm in good health!”

“Relatively,” replied Roadhog, and Junkrat's lips turned downwards. Before he could say anything further, the doctor resumed her analysis.

“In fact, I was wondering if you’d been taking to combat the effects of radiation,” said the  doctor.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Some kinda little pills every once in awhile. Made me feel a bit less sick, helped me keep some of me beautiful hair.” He ran his fingers through the brittle blond strands.

“Yes, well,” she said dryly. “I’m guessing that they were some type of vaguely effective nanobiotics, and they’re probably the reason you’re still alive. The major effects have been largely cosmetic. For instance, you mentioned your hair. Unfortunately, the exposure was prolonged enough that there's nothing we can do about that.”

“No worries, mate,” said Junkrat. “Plenty of people shave their heads! I'm cutting edge! Ahead of me time, even!” He cackled at that. Fashion forward, he was. Patchy hair, ripped cargo shorts, traces of ash that never seemed to wash away; it'd all be in style within weeks of his conscription. Dr. Z didn't seem to find it quite as funny.

“One concern we can deal with, however,” she continued, “is your keratosis. That is to say, the thick, red patches on your skin.” Rat paused to examine one of the scaly spots that spanned from his elbow midway to his upper arm.

“That's 'cause I'm sick?” he asked. “Always just thought I was turning into a lizard, heh.”

“It's a skin condition,” explained the doctor. “I'm prescribing a topical medication in lotion form. You will take it every day, and the problem should clear up.” She cocked her head at him. “Chronic radiation poisoning has a number of effects; it is incredibly surprising that you don't display more symptoms, even with the biotic pills. From what I understand, you've been staying in non-irradiated territory for some time, so you haven't been ingesting any more toxic food or water. Again, your bloodwork will reveal more about the nature of your condition, but I'm going to prescribe you stronger biotics and iodine tablets in an attempt to clear out any lingering effects of more recent poisoning.” Flipping her chart to a new page, she looked up at Junkrat, eyebrow arched. “Now, are there any questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Not particularly,” he said idly, his eyes wandering from hers to flit around the room. So much glass. So many potential parts to scrap. Or, not scrap. Outright stealing medical instruments wasn't exactly scrapping. He could feel a thought just at the edge of his brain, something relevant, and he tapped his food as he waited for it to make contact. When it hit him, he must've jumped almost a foot into the air, his peg leg springloaded and ready.

“That's it!” he said. “The, uh, the juice! I was on it, and then off it, and then on it again, and then we left Oz and it was harder to get it, and I want it back.” Dr. Z looked tilted her head to the side, her expression puzzled. “You know. The juice. The T thing.” The doctor said nothing, and Rat growled in frustration.

“Testosterone,” Roadhog provided. “Haven't been able to get it in a few months. Rat's transgender. He needs it back.” It was the longest he'd spoken to an outsider since they'd arrived at Gibraltar. Junkrat nodded fervently.

“Roight,” he said. “Trans-jenga, or whatever. So, can I have the juice, or what?” Dr. Z's mouth had opened into an “o” shape.

“Testosterone?” she asked. “Well, I suppose if we're running blood tests anyway, it would be no trouble to determine whether or not it's safe. But if you have a… typically 'female' reproductive system, it would probably be a good idea to get a gynecological exam.” Gynecological exam. The words were unfamiliar to Junkrat, but the context told him enough that he knew he didn't want one.

“No fuckin' way!” he snarled. “Like hell I'm letting some doctor near my parts! Try to fuckin' touch me and I'll blow this whole bloody place to pieces!” Roadhog put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed, but Junkrat was still bristling, stiff under its weight.

“Mr. Fawkes,” said the doctor, her expression icy. The blue of her eyes was steely, completely free from fear; Junkrat would've been impressed if he weren't absolutely livid. “There is no need for intimidation here. Any further threats will be treated as serious–” Junkrat wanted to scream that they sure as fuck should be, but this time the squeeze worked “–and dealt with as such. This is a secure facility. I would not test our forces if I were you.” Junkrat looked up at Roadhog, who nodded slightly. He breathed in deep, tried to count to ten like Roadhog had taught him one time. He only made it to five, but he was already calmer by then.

“Foine, foine,” he said, “but no one touches me down there.” He giggled. “Well, no doctors, anyway. Not now, not ever.” Roadhog groaned at the “no doctors” comment, but it must have seemed like he was protesting the “not now, not ever,” because Dr. Z looked up at the bodyguard as though pleading for some rationality. Much to his credit (in Junkrat's book, at least), Roadhog merely shrugged. Good. Rat wasn't budging on this.

“Alright,” said the doctor. “Well then, I'll have the prescriptions prepared and run your labwork. The results should be back within a few days, at which point we will discuss them, as well as the possibility of continuing hormone replacement therapy. As long as your blood pressure is decent, I don't see anything that would prevent it, though.”

“Well, ta then!” said Junkrat, shrieking with joyous laughter. He grabbed at Roadhog's wrist and looked up, but the mask betrayed no emotion. It was fine, though. He knew Roadie was just as happy for him. Dr. Z sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head for a moment before recovering her professional demeanor.

“Well, Mr. Fawkes, if that's all...” Junkrat nodded his head because who gave a fuck about bones and blood and skin if he was gonna get his juice back. “Then we'll start with Mr. Rutledge. Mako,” Junkrat thrilled again at the name. How could he have ever forgotten such a wonderful name? “Would you like Jamison to be present for your exam, as well?” Roadhog nodded.

“And the mask stays on,” he said. The doctor sighed again, but did not protest. Junkrat hadn't seen many people argue with Roadhog. It was mostly just him.

“The mask stays on,” repeated Dr. Z, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying so hard to write other characters, guys, I swear. I think I'm getting better, but the first chapter is pretty rough, and it's a work in progress. anyway, comments and kudos wouldn't come amiss :D


	3. Chapter Two: Oh Shit I'm Pregnant (ft. the Golden Trio)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat gets some Big News. (I wonder what it could be?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I think that somewhere I saw someone call d.va junkrat and lucio the golden trio once, and I loved it. thinking of them as friends makes me so happy. so, like, yeah, there's a lot of angst, a lot of hair-pulling, a lot of my own ineffective coping mechanisms in here, but at least there's a little bit of friendship fluff towards the end! ALSO I made the executive decision that d.va is a trans girl. deal with it.
> 
> -warnings: mentions of abortion, self-harm in the form of trichotillomania -

Junkrat couldn't tell if his labwork was taking more time than usual or waiting just made him want to die. Probably a mixture of both, he figured. Not setting off small explosions in the common areas would have been hard enough without the T question lingering overhead. Could he be blamed if he set off the tiniest of cherry bombs in one of the toilets?

Yes, apparently, he could. While he might've been safe from cops and bounty hunters here, that big, pink-haired lady was nothing to sneeze at. Especially when she had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring down at you. It didn't matter that she was soaking wet from the burst pipe in the bathroom. In fact, it might've even made her scarier, shirtsleeves clinging to her muscles like that. Junkrat could've gone through the trouble of straightening his back a bit to even out the height advantage, but her biceps sent him running for his bodyguard before he could bother with the (admittedly painful) process. Roadhog probably had at least a couple hundred pounds on her, and Junkrat felt fairly secure standing behind him. Pink Lady eyed Roadhog up and down, still somehow managing to look imposing in comparison to a man nearly a foot taller than she was.

“Keep your rat out of trouble,” she said in that thick Russian accent of hers, eying Junkrat disdainfully. Junkrat bristled, and creaked up to his full height at the indignity of it all.

“Hey!” he complained, looking up to Roadhog. “You gonna let her talk about me like that?” Roadhog snorted at him.

“Yeah,” he replied. He gave the Russian woman a thumbs up. “He'll be polite. Right, Boss?” Junkrat muffled a scream through closed lips, but it didn't seem like Roadhog was going to back him up on this one, so he nodded his consent. Pink Lady squinted at them like she was looking for a lie before finally meeting Roadhog's eyes. Or, where his eyes would be under his mask.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said. She gave Junkrat a final, displeased glance before heading off, probably to find the mechanic Junkrat had been avoiding (like hell was he going to let someone pick at his arm and leg). Well. There was another friend he wouldn't be making anytime soon. Pretty much everyone Junkrat had interacted with so far seemed to end up pissed off. At least half of that was on purpose, he reasoned. Wasn't like he wanted friends. Hadn't had any since the whole Outback turned on him. Maybe never in his life, if he thought about it. When was a kid, maybe? Who knew. Maybe he was an obnoxious brat even before the explosion fried his brain.

The whole idea of making friends here seemed wrong to him, even though some of the other Overwatch members had formed their own cliques. Half of them seemed to dislike him right off the bat, and one of them had told him pretty icily that she thought he was a bully directly to his face. Whatever. He didn't care. Any of these people could sell him out at a moment's notice, so why bother with them? Especially not that omnic bastard what was always floating around offering to “heal” him. Like he'd fall for that one. No, he had Hog. A bodyguard, a friend, and a partner all rolled into one, and the only person who knew how to put up with Junkrat's wreck of a brain and personality. Roadhog, conversely, hadn't pissed anyone off, mostly by way of being large and saying little. The two spent most of their free time in their shared room – Roadhog reading, Junkrat tinkering and drawing up schematics, both of them painting each other's nails when their polish got chipped.

The missions helped. Rat thought that he would've gone stir-crazy without the missions. He was so used to running from place to place, pulling heists and traveling the world, that staying still for too long got to him. He liked the missions. Didn't necessarily like all his team-members (that goddamn omnic), didn't always like the amount of “cooperation” he had to put up with. But he definitely liked setting up traps and blowing stuff up, and he got to do plenty of that during missions. So far, the ones he and Roadie went on were pretty local. Probably Overwatch wanted to make sure they were committed to the cause before sending them anywhere too far from their base. Fair enough. It also meant that they could ship out in the morning and get back to the watchpoint with enough time for Junkrat to spend hours trying not to rip out his remaining hair waiting to hear back from the doctor.

What sucked were the days that there weren't missions. He and Roadie had been shipped out on two or three missions in the short time they'd been with Overwatch, but they had some downtime, which Junkrat absolutely hated. He had plenty of supplies to create more and more explosives, but he couldn't just set them off wherever he wanted. Not enough empty spaces, no random cars or buildings he was allowed to blow up without rhyme or reason. There were a couple of training grounds, and that was about it. Sanitary, inauthentic training grounds. He was left developing more and more bombs – all different varieties, new and improved – that he couldn't use when or where he wanted.

Still wary of the other agents, he mostly went to the training grounds in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. Alone, because he didn't want to wake up Roadhog. Roadie was cute when he was sleeping. His soft, unmasked face, brown skin pitted by scars, the comfort of his deep snoring, his body warm and perfect. Junkrat couldn't disturb that. The explosions felt hollow in the training grounds, echoing over steel and damaging only training bots that reassembled moments after demolition. Overwatch may have been safer, but Junkrat was considering begging Roadhog to go back on the run with him, bounties and authorities and stable living situations be damned. The only thing that currently bound him to Gibraltar was the possibility of getting back on the juice, which he reminded himself of at every finger twitch and unauthorized reach for his frag launcher.

The summons to the doctor's office (Dr. Ziegler, Roadhog kept reminding him, Dr. Angela Ziegler) came after about a week and a half of nail-biting skin-scratching hair-ripping waiting. The same impossibly quick brunette who had first escorted them to the lab knocked on his door, wearing a sour expression that indicated that she hadn't warmed up to Junkrat any further since their first meeting. Junkrat wondered if she was one of the ones he had royally pissed off since his arrival, but came up blank. Which didn't mean that he hadn't done something, just that he couldn't remember whatever it might've been

“Doctor wants to see you,” she said tersely before zipping off so quickly that Junkrat had to sprint to catch up. He would've been irritated if his brain weren't going a mile a minute, bouncing against the walls of his skull with a mixture of anxiety and excitement that made him yelp or whoop involuntarily every few seconds. Fast Girl – whose name Junkrat could not recall because Roadhog hadn't reminded him of it every few hours for the last week or so – turned back with pursed lips and a quirked eyebrow every time, but said nothing. She dropped him off at the big glass doors, not bothering to open them since Junkrat now had clearance to open them herself.

“The doctor will see you now,” she said shortly. Then she turned and blinked through the corridor bit by bit until Junkrat could not longer see her.

“Ta,” he said, rolling his eyes. But he couldn't keep a smile off his face as the little button on the door scanned his fingerprint and he heard that beautiful swooshing sound. Chest puffed out, shoulders back, he strode into the lab like he was wearing the crown jewels… again.

“Well Doc,” he said. “I'm ready for me scrip.” He held his hand out confidently, then quickly deflated when it became obvious that the paper wasn't coming. He looked down to see Ziegler biting her lip about a foot down from his face. Rat sank to his regular height, the hunch shaped by years of chest dysphoria and carrying a giant tire around on his back.

“What's wrong, Doc?” he asked, his eyes flicking all over her face as his smile thinned.

“Nothing, medically speaking,” said Dr. Ziegler, but she still had that look on her face. “Your blood pressure is fine, and you're still remarkably healthy for a chronic radiation patient. Under normal circumstances, I would have no qualms about your testosterone prescription.” Junkrat smiled, but the corners of his lips twitched.

“Then what's the problem?” he asked in a small voice.

“Mr. Fawkes, you appear to be pregnant.” Junkrat stared at the doctor, at her frown and her wide blue eyes and her delicate hands curled around the sides of the clipboard. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere in his body, somewhere irrational, hysterical. The ringing rose in his ears until he could just barely hear the ungodly shrieking that was ripping through his throat because no, this couldn't be possible, this didn't make any sense, he must've misunderstood something, he was always misunderstanding things, mishearing things, missing important things, hearing the wrong words. THE WRONG WORDS, they must have been, because that couldn't be possible. His laughter died down, but the ringing didn't, not much, and he wiped a tear from his eye.

“That's a good one, Z,” he said, giggling between labored breaths. “No way that's right. Don't make no sense.”

“Mr. Fawkes, I've run the tests several times to be sure,” said the doctor. “That's why the results took longer than expected. I didn't want to say anything for sure until I was certain of my findings. Not only is your pregnancy possible, it is verifiable. Have you had unprotected sex recently?”

“Well, yeah, couple 'a times,” said Junkrat like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because sometimes they just ran outta rubbers and they weren’t gonna let something like that stop them. “But nothing like that could've happened. My guts've gotta be fried from all that toxic shit in Oz, can't be nothin' livin' in there.”

“Well, as I said before, you are rather healthy, considering your living circumstances,” said Dr. Ziegler. Junkrat giggled nervously – the idea of being healthy had never appealed to him less. The doctor must have noticed that, under all the soot from the explosions he'd been testing last night, the color was draining from his face. She stepped towards him and tentatively reached out a hand. “Jamison…”

Junkrat jerked his shoulder away from her, baring his teeth. “Don't call me that,” he growled. Then, remembering the warning he'd received on his first day, he tried to do another one of those “relaxation” things Roadhog had taught him. He closed his eyes and squeezed his fists tight, digging his fingernails into his left palm. The right hand couldn't feel it, but the action made his arms shake and tense before he released his muscles with a heavy exhale. There. Grounded, or whatever. No screaming. Not now. He opened his eyes.

“So, uh,” he started shakily. “What do I do about this, then?” His fingers tapped metallically against his palm, tick-tick-tick like a bomb. Tick-tick-tick-tick how many seconds had gone by since the doc dropped the bomb? The doctor shook her head.

“I cannot tell you that, Mr. Fawkes,” she said. “I can tell you that you seem to be less than a month along in your pregnancy, meaning that it's not too late to perform and abortion. But that is a choice only you can make. And one you should perhaps take time to consider.” Junkrat gulped, nodded. Abortion. It was a big word, a heavy one, but one that he knew well enough. Not everyone who got knocked up in the Outback could keep a kid. Hell, most of them couldn't. So talk about abortion wasn't exactly uncommon. It just never felt like something that could possibly apply to him.

“I…” he said, but couldn't quite figure out how to finish the sentence. The lights seemed too bright now, blinding, the ringing in his ears unbearably loud, whatever stuff made him up underneath his skin felt like it was crawling, trying to escape. He couldn't hold his eyes in one place, his gaze twitching from the doctor to the clipboard to the overhead fluorescents and the tables laden with medical instruments, everything so clean, everything so different from what he'd grown up with. He swallowed again.

“I have to go,” he said, and before the doctor could say anything he had sprinted out of the office, his uneven gait echoing through the halls. It wasn't until he was completely out of breath and that he slumped down against a wall, curled into a ball, and absolutely screamed his fucking head off. Sank his fingers into his scalp, rocked back and forth, and screamed at the top of his lungs until he thought his throat might bleed, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop, there was just too much in his chest and it only seemed to get bigger the more he tried to let it out. He had no idea where he was, but over his own shrieking he could hear the opening and closing of a door. Fuckin great. Someone here to rat on the rat. He closed his mouth and screeched through his closed lips so that no one would jump on him for his outburst.

“Hey, uh, Junkrat?” said a voice from above him. Junkrat didn't look up, just clutched his hands tighter and rocked back and forth. A set of light footsteps rapidly approached, and the voice went hushed. “That is his name, right? Junkrat?”

“Pretty sure,” whispered another voice, this one much higher than the last.

“Thought so,” whispered the first. Then, louder, “Junkrat, uh? You okay down there?” Junkrat's eyes snapped wide open, darting from place to place but unable to land on any faces long enough to identify them.

“Fine, mates,” he said, his voice high-pitched and hoarse from screaming. “Just dandy. Glowing, actually.” He threw his head back and released a laugh that rubbed coarsely against his sore throat. “Glowing, right? That's what they say when yer pregnant? Glowing?”

“Dude,” said the lower voice calmly. “You're not making any sense right now. Can you look up here at me, man?” Eyes wild, bulging like tennis balls in his skull, Junkrat complied to see two people standing above him – the roller-skating guy with locs and the bunny girl who always wore her blush in bright pink triangles on her cheeks. The guy with locs was frowning at him, but not like Pink Lady had frowned at him a couple days ago.

“Hey, man,” said Skates. “What's up?”

“Already told you,” said Junkrat, still laughing. “I'm pregnant! Doc just said so!”

“Sorry, but what?” asked Bunny Girl, idly popping the gum she had been chewing. The sound was like an explosion in Junkrat's ears, and not in a good way. He covered them up briefly, but kept giggling to himself like it was the funniest joke in the world.

“Y'know, the doctor!” he said, the name suddenly going out of his head. He snapped the fingers on his metal hand trying to remember. “Dr…. Z, something?”

“Dr. Ziegler,” said Skates at the same time as Bunny Girl said, “Mercy.”

“Yeah, that one,” said Junkrat, nodding. “Said I couldn't go back on the juice because I'm pregnant. Pregnant! Me! Can you believe it?” He snickered even as he felt tears spill out of his eyes.

“Juice?” asked Bunny Girl, spitting her gum into a wrapper. “Like, hormones?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Junkrat. “I'm… shit, Roadhog said it before. Something about trains?”

“Transgender?” asked Skates, his locs falling to the side as he tilted his head and crossed his arms. Junkrat pointed at him.

“Ding ding ding, there’s our winner!” he said. There was something about getting exactly the word he needed to that lit sparks in his brain. But he had to remember his company. Strangers. Allied or not, didn't matter. Anyone could turn on him at a moment's notice, and his bodyguard was currently out on another mission. Wasn't exactly like people had taken kindly to it in the Outback, even before he'd been in deep shit over the treasure. He narrowed his eyes. “Got a problem with it?”

“Nope!” replied Bunny Girl. She clapped her hands, dark eyes sparkling. “This is awesome! It's always cool to have more of us around this place!”

“You too, then?” asked Junkrat, almost, almost distracted enough from his distress to be excited.

“Yup!” said Bunny Girl, grinning and holding out a peace sign. “Major league trans girl right here! Love me, hate me, whatever; I'll still kick your ass.”

“Some others, too,” added Skates. “Not gonna out anyone, though.”

“Cool of you,” said Junkrat, losing all his enthusiasm and staring back down at his legs. Trying not to scream again because he had remembered and it was just as much this time. A little yelp escaped his lips.

“Sorry to bury the lead there,” said Skates. “You said you were pregnant?”

“Yup! Bun in the oven here! Eating for two and all that!” He buried his head in his hands again, whole body vibrating like it was preparing to leave this plane. He wished it would; didn't want to have to deal with this shit right now.

“I'm guessing it wasn't on purpose,” said Skates. Junkrat whipped his head up and snarled at him.

“No fuckin’ shit,” he said. “Do I look like someone who just can't wait to have a brat of his own? Father of the bloody year over here?” He expected Skates and Bunny girl to get spooked and walk away, leaving him to scream in peace. Instead, Skates slid against the wall to sit next to Junkrat. The shorter man smiled slightly.

“That was a stupid question, huh?” he asked. He pulled out a little device and held its glowing screen in front of Junkrat. “How about some tunes?” Suddenly, Junkrat remembered this guy. They'd been on a mission together before. This was the guy with the sweet speakers and the music that could make him run like a dingo or heal him up almost as good as one of Hog's canisters, all just by being next to him. Tears slid down his cheeks again. Was this what pregnancy was, or was it just an extension of his usual batshit instability?

“Sounds good to me, mate,” he choked out. Skates nodded serenely and hit a button on his little machine, sending soft tones out in waves around them. The kinda music that normally would've annoyed the shit outta Junkrat (what was the point of music if it wasn't lighting a fire in you?), but right now, it seemed to be just what he needed. Tapping his foot to the gentle beat, he brought his arm up to his face to wipe away the tears. Bunny Girl took a seat next to her friend.

“Need anything?” she asked. Without waiting for a response, she fished into the pocket of her hot pink hoodie and pulled out a pack of gum. She held out a stick, an offering. “Gum?” Junkrat took a stick. He had never really understood chewing on something that wasn't exactly food, but anything that might help right now was welcome. God, a drink would've been welcome. Or not, since, you know. Pregnant. Not supposed to drink when you’re pregnant. He shoved the gum in his mouth, almost forgetting to take off the wrapper, and started chewing.

“Lotsa things I need,” he said, tonguing the gum to one side of his mouth. “Guess I gotta tell Roadie. Y'know, since he's the dad and all. The other dad, I mean. He's not here right now, though.” Skates' mouth dropped open a little bit, but Bunny Girl just nodded.

“How do you think he's gonna be about it?” she asked.

“Dunno, mate,” said Junkrat. “Probably real good about it, actually. He's a mean-looking cunt, but he loves me and all.” Skates managed to to regain his composure just enough to respond.

“So, you two are together, huh?” he asked. Junkrat snorted.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “For like, ahhhh, shit, I dunno. A year? Two years? Something like that? Ah, fuck, I wasn't supposed to say that, though.”

“You… weren't?” asked Bunny.

“Course not!” said Junkrat, folding his arms. “You can't just let people know you love someone. You love someone, they're your weakness. You've got a weakness, and people know that weakness, you're fucked. Roadie's my partner, yeah, but no one's supposed to know he's my partner partner.”

“You know you can tell us stuff like that, right?” asked Skates. “We're all on the same team here. No one's gonna try to use any of this against you.” Junkrat snorted.

“I don't know about that, mate,” he said. “Not keepin’ me mouth shut is what got all of the Outback on my arse. 'Sides, no one here seems to like me much. Not that I been helpin’ with that. Don't care much about makin’ 'friends.'” Finger quotes around the next word. He looked over the pair beside him, who slid down to the steel-tile floor just to check up on him. Supposedly, at least. “I like you, though. What're your names?”

“Lucio,” said Skates with a wave of his hand. “I lay down the beats on the battlefield.”

“D.va reporting,” answered Bunny. “I run the big, pink MEKA. Can't miss it. But you can call me Hana when we're on base.”

“Alroight, alroight,” said Junkrat, trying to will the names to stick in his mind. Probably wouldn't, though. A bit of stress and even Dr. Z's name popped right outta his head. He flashed a grin. “Lucio and Hana. You're probably gonna have to tell me that again. And again, and again, and again… mind's not what it used to be.” He cackled. “Nah, just kidding. I've always been like this.”

“It's chill, we don't mind,” said Lucio. He smiled and nudged the girl beside him. “Right, Hana?”

“Yup!” said Hana, giving a thumbs up. “NP!” Junkrat wasn't sure what that last part meant, but he grinned back at her anyway. Suddenly, another pulse of realization hit him, hurdling his heart right to the bottom of his stomach. The baby thing. Right. He started to feel a bit queasy – morning sickness, or just anxiety? The idea that it might be morning sickness, that this was all setting in so fast, only made him feel sicker. He gulped, accidentally swallowing his gum in the process.

“Roight. Think I'm gonna go… spend some time alone,” he said. “Better get going.” Before he told them his entire life story because they had shown a little bit of kindness. That was one thing that was good about being on the run – no nice people, no loose lips. He planted his hand on the floor and pushed himself up before remembering that he had no idea where he was.

“Say, uh,” he said. “Mind helping a bloke get back to his room? I'm in Wing B. I think.” Hana sprang to her feet.

“Sweet!” she exclaimed. “We're in Wing B right now! We're practically dormies!”

“Dunno what that means,” said Junkrat with a shrug. “But the room's got me name on it. Well, mine's and Roadie's. Think you can help?”

“Of course,” said Lucio. “Anything for a friend.”

Junkrat felt a little surge at the word. He knew he should try to push it down, but he couldn't. “Friend.” He thought he might be able to accept it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up: the first half of the next chapter is gonna be pretty Rough, too. but there will come soft fluff and the smell of the ground and all that jazz. also you guys have been really nice and supportive, so I wanted to thank you all for that!


	4. Chapter Three: At Least "Pregnant" Is an Easy Word to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a storm erupts and then calms. metaphorically speaking. literally speaking, junkrat agonizes before telling roadhog about the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm super proud of myself for actually updating pretty steadily! hooray for me! and thank you so much for all the positive responses on this fic. it really helps me keep writing. anyway, this is a chapter where I really just took a bunch of my own brain's bad-day bullshit and went "here, you take this!" to junkrat. so it starts out pretty distressing and then ends up... well, you'll see. I think you can guess how it ends up. 
> 
> *trigger warnings this chapter for mentions of abortion (no actual abortion) and self-harm via trichotillomania and scratching*

Predictably, the trio made it to Junkrat's room just fine, Hana exclaiming the whole time that she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed before that they lived just down the hall. Junkrat couldn't blame her, though. After all, he had spent the last week and a half hiding out when everyone was awake and sneaking around at night. Lucio and Hana wished him good luck and told him to keep them in the loop, then left Junkrat to his own devices. His own devices mostly consisted of fiddling with his bombs and traps. Heh. Left to his own devices with his own devices.

However, as was the case recently even before The News, he couldn't keep his hands and brain from straying as he worked with powders and wires and bits of metal. Every once in awhile he would realize that he wasn't working on his (new and improved) steel trap because his hand had come up to tug on his hair. The metal one, so even the absent action of closing the fingers around a lock unintentionally tore out a few strands. Unable to help himself, he made little yelps and growls and screams as he tried to work, or dug his jagged fingernails into his face and dragged them down until a little bit of blood leaked out. Before long, he was back to rocking on the floor, his head clutched in a vice grip between his hands.

He'd said to Hana and Skates that Roadhog would be good about this, that he'd be fine, and he would. He would, Junkrat was sure of it. Except… except for that evil part of his brain that wouldn't ever let him be sure of anything. Because he was this huge burden on Roadhog, always had been, messy and scattered and clingy and needy and unstable and couldn't keep himself out of trouble. And now that they already had it made, now that they were with Overwatch, Junkrat wasn't even worth his treasure anymore. He'd been a pesky, crazy little shit all along, but one who earned the right to company and protection. Some part of him was amazed that, now that they were more stable, Roadhog hadn't decided that he wasn't worth it and distanced himself. Asked for a different room, lived his own life without having to be disturbed by the obnoxious brat who sometimes screamed because the lights were too bright or grabbed frantically onto his strong shoulder like it was the only thing keeping him there. Because he was. Roadie was that, sometimes, for Junkrat.

But what if this pregnancy thing was the last straw? What if this was the part where Roadhog decided that he wasn't worth it anymore? God, Junkrat didn't think he could deal with that. He would die first. He didn't know what he wanted to do about the situation, it was all too much for him, but if it came down to Roadhog or the little thing growing in him, he'd pick Roadhog.

It was at this point in his train of thought that Junkrat noticed what he'd done to the room. Everything he'd had on the table was scattered across the floor in pieces, like he'd scooped it all up in his arms and thrown it. Which was probably what happened. Other objects – several pillows, a (now-broken) lamp, some of Roadhog's books – were similarly strewn about. He had the vague memory of grabbing things and lobbing them while his brain was freaking out, but it was hazy and barely felt like him. This wasn't the first time he'd had that kind of an episode, and God, he thought with dread, it wasn’t going to be the last.

Not bothering with the mess, he flopped down onto the bed, drawing his limbs in close to himself. It wasn't that he was calm now; just exhausted. The thoughts that had been running through his mind slowed to a crawl. But they didn't stop, just started talking different, dark and almost calm.

He's already left you, they said. The bastard's already done with you. When he gets back here, when he finds out, he'll leave for real. Turn against you just like everyone else. You won't have anyone anymore. Just yourself and your useless fucking brain. It's your fault. But you don't need him. You don't need anyone. The door creaked open, a sliver of light crept into the pitch-black room, widening until Junkrat could see his own shadow on the wall. His, and Roadhog's. He rolled over to face the man in the doorway, a growl rumbling up from somewhere inside him.

“You,” he growled. Roadhog didn't answer, merely closed the door quietly and slid their lightswitch on to the lowest setting. He walked over and took a seat on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight.

“Did I do something?” he asked. He hadn't yet taken off his mask, and the filters made his voice gravelly in spite of his even tone.

“Whaddya mean, did you do somethin’?” asked Junkrat, his voice pitching up in a mocking timbre that didn't even remotely match Roadhog's. “Course you did, ya bastard.”

“Don't know what it was,” said Roadhog, his voice patient and calm. It made Junkrat want to grind his teeth until they were nothing but nubs. What right did he have to be calm? “Can you tell me?”

“You,” started Junkrat, but then couldn't finish. He growled again. “You–” abandoned me? But he hadn't; Roadhog was right there next to him, quiet and solid. Waiting for Junkrat's fried brain to catch up to reality. Junkrat sighed, all the anger draining from his exhausted body.

“No,” he said. “No, you didn't do nothing. It was just….” He made a vague, swirly gesture near his head with his hand. Roadhog reached an arm over and pulled Junkrat close, freeing his mask with his other hand so that Junkrat could see his face.

“I'm here,” he said. He wasn't smiling, not at all, but there was this intensity in his dark eyes, like this was the most serious thing in the world to him right now. In spite of everything rushing through his head before, Junkrat believed that was the case. He reached up and traced over each feature of Roadhog's face – the pits and swirls of scars, the thick eyebrows, the stubble on his chin, the broad nose, the heavy lines of his jaw. Roadie, his Roadie, who was sitting next to him, who had waited for him to come to his senses, who had kept the lights dimmed because he knew Junkrat was panicking and anything brighter would just make it worse. Who had taught him all these ways not to panic that he couldn't always make work. He buried his face in Roadhog's chest, feeling his own tears hot on his face.

“Roadie,” he sobbed. “Roadie, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I was sure you was gonna leave me, and then me head told me that you already did, I'm sorry. You've gotta hate me by now, I'm sorry.” Most of all, he was sorry that this was something that had happened before: working himself up over something imaginary and then forgetting it wasn't real. Lashing out over things that didn't really happen. Making them really happen because of his own self-destructive impulses. By now, Roadhog knew how to deal with it, but he shouldn't have to.

“I'm here, Rat,” repeated Roadhog. “I'm not going anywhere. I don't hate you.” For a second, Junkrat relaxed against his partner's chest, his breathing evening out and his eyelids drooping like he might even fall asleep. Another shuddering sob went through him as he remembered again what it was he had really gotten so worked up over.

“Oh, you're gonna hate me,” he said, his hands balling into fists, his teeth gritting down. “You don't hate me now but you're gonna once I tell you.”

“Tell me what?” asked Roadhog. When Rat didn't reply, Roadhog took him by the shoulders and pushed him to arm's length as gently as he could, meeting his eyes. “What do you have to tell me?” Junkrat's face was a mess of tears and snot, he could feel it. He wiped his nose and eyes with the upper part of his right arm.

“Went to see the doc today,” he said. “Dr. Ziegler,” he clarified, as if there was any other doctor around. But remembering the name made him feel a little more in control of himself, if just for a moment. “She said…” Junkrat's shoulders slumped a little in Roadhog's grasp. He wished he could just be finished with this conversation, melt into the bed, and never get back up.

“What did she say?” asked Roadhog, his words coming faster than before. He was worried, Junkrat told himself. He was angry, another part of him said. “Jamison, are you alright?”

“I'm foine, I'm foine,” said Junkrat, shaking his head. He raised up his face to meet Roadhog's eyes again. This time his thick, white eyebrows were furrowed in concern. Junkrat had spent their first few months together thinking that there couldn't possibly be any expression underneath that mask, sometimes even forgetting that Roadhog must've had a face under there in the first place. He couldn't've been more wrong. Junkrat grinned toothily, but his heart wasn't in it.

“Guess who's pregnant,” he said. His voice sounded weak and tired and scared even to his own ears, in spite of his feeble attempts at masking it. Roadhog's normally sleepy-looking eyes widened enough that Junkrat could see the whites all the way round.

“Pregnant?” he asked. His hands loosened and started to slip from Junkrat's shoulders, which Junkrat used as an opportunity to jerk out of his grasp and cross his arms over his body. He cast his eyes downwards, trying desperately to forget the shock on his partner's face.

“It's me,” he said, his thin voice halfheartedly cheerful. No, less than halfhearted. Maybe a quarter-hearted, at the absolute most. The two sat there for what felt like hours, Junkrat chewing on his lip, Roadhog lowering his arms and not saying a word. After a while, Junkrat added, “It's yours, just so y'know. Like I'd ever fuck anyone else when I've got you.”

“Figured,” said Roadhog. A pause. Then, “So, uh. How far along are you?” Junkrat shrugged, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Dunno exactly,” he said. “Less than a month, doc said. Must've happened a bit before we got here.” Feeling his eyes start to water again, Junkrat bit down on his tongue, hoping to hold the tears back. It didn't work, and a moment later he felt himself being pressed into Roadhog's chest. He sniffed.

“You hate me, don't you?” asked Junkrat. Hog took his chin in his hand and tilted Junkrat's face up to look at his. Soft brown eyes. Downturned lips with that underbite Junkrat loved so much. No wonder Roadhog didn't show his face to anyone – who would have time to deal with that many people falling in love with him?

“Jamison,” said Roadhog. “Does it look like I hate you?”

“No,” said Junkrat. It didn't. He'd have to trust that.

“It's just….” Oh no. Oh God no. Junkrat didn't want to hear whatever came after that. His metal fingers gripped at his other arm until it might bruise. “This is my fault.” Now that… that was a surprise. This time it was Junkrat who pushed himself off Roadhog's chest to get a better look at him.

“Your fault?” he asked. “Whaddya mean, your fault? I didn't have any fancy public school education like you, but I'm pretty sure ya need two people to make a kid, and I did stuff that'd make a kid. Stop me if I'm wrong,but I was there, too, roight?”

“You were,” agreed Roadhog. “But I did go to school. You're so young. And I… I should've known better. Been more responsible.” Junkrat got ready to snap something back, to get angry at being called young when he was an adult, but for once in his life, he was too tired to argue.

“Look, mate,” he sighed. “Don't matter whose fault it is. It happened.”

“Right,” said Roadhog. “So. What do you want to do?”

“I don't know.” Junkrat shifted uncomfortably. “What do you want to do?”

“Not important right now,” answered Roadhog. “It's your body. Figure out what you want first. We'll talk about me after.” Junkrat's thought from before flashed back through his head – if it came down to the kid or Roadhog, then he'd pick Hog. He should've known better than to think for even a second that Hog would force that kind of choice on him. In a way, though, Junkrat wished he would. It'd be straightforward, simple. Probably not healthy, but not complicated. This way he had to actually think about what he wanted.

“Never wanted a kid,” he said quietly. “Kids in Oz grow up all kinds of fucked.” He giggled a little bit and pointed to himself. “Exhibit A, right here.” Roadhog didn't laugh with him. He never did, not at things like that.

“Not in Oz anymore,” he said simply. The smile faded from Junkrat's face.

“No, no, we're not, are we?” Which only made the question harder. “Didn't even think I could get pregnant. Thought my insides were ruined for good. Shoulda known better. Sheilas in the Outback were poppin’ out brats all the time. Just didn't think it could happen to me. I'm not… I'm not a…” His voice started to break, a pathetic little sound he absolutely hated.

“You're a man,” said Roadhog, turning Junkrat to sit on his lap and giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I know that. We both do.” Junkrat sucked back his tears and nodded.

“I was supposed to go back on the juice,” he said. “Can't do that if I'm carrying a kid around in my belly.”

“Don't have to keep it,” said Roadhog. “If it's only been a few weeks, Dr. Ziegler could make it go away. Pretty quick, wouldn't hurt much. If that's what you want.”

“Dunno if that's what I want,” said Junkrat. His right hand was still squeezing painfully at his other arm. Noticing this, Roadhog reached over and uncurled the metal fingers. “Dunno what I want. It's fuckin’ scary, Roadie. Scarier than torture, maybe. I get torture, y'know? It’s simple,” His head thunked against Roadhog's chest. “But I don't know if I want the thing gone. Somethin’ that's me and you? I'm not sure I wanna get rid of that. Might wanna hold onto that. Sounds like a good deal.” Roadhog grunted, and Junkrat turned himself back around to look at the larger man, eyes flicking anxiously over his carefully neutral face. “Would that be okay with you? Keepin’ it? Do you even wanna be a dad?”

Roadhog kept that neutral expression for a while – brow set low, jaw strong and firm, eyes opened but not blown wide like before. It was killing Junkrat, whose brain was back in high gear with a billion thoughts so fast he could barely even figure them out. What if he had made the wrong choice, said the wrong thing, and now Roadie hated him for real? What if Junkrat chose to keep the kid and Roadie went along with it just because he was trying to supportive? What if he ended up raising a kid he never wanted because he was putting Junkrat's needs first? Or what if this was the thing that split them up?

Finally, Roadhog's expression broke, eyes going watery and lower lip quivering before he covered up his face with a large hand.

“Yeah,” he said first. Then, with a heavy breath: “God yes, I do.” Junkrat reached up to touch Roadhog's face between the man's giant fingers, to feel his damp cheek.

“Roadie…” he said. “Roadie, are you crying?” All evidence pointed to yes, but it didn't seem possible. Junkrat could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Roadhog cry, and he couldn't understand what there was to cry about right now.

“Sorry,” said Roadhog gruffly. “Don't want you to make a choice because of how I feel. But if you want this, I want this.” Junkrat gulped.

“I want this,” he said, even though it felt crazy to say so. Hours and hours spent screaming his head off and throwing shit only to figure out he wanted to keep the damn thing? The calm in his voice was foreign to him. But he needed to be steady right now, for once in his life. Because Roadhog was crying, and even if it didn't make sense, Junkrat had to be the solid one this time.

“Me, too,” said Roadhog. He removed the hand from his face and smiled the softest smile Junkrat had ever seen on him. Junkrat smiled back, then stretched and yawned.

“Hooley dooley am I tired!” he said. “I don't know what you were doing, dicking around out there all day, but I was doing some serious heavy liftin’ over here.” He looked up at Roadhog, whose eyes were distant, staring at his own folded hands. “You ready for bed, ya big lug?”

“'Course I am,” said Hog, his attention snapping back to the here and now. He snorted. “'Dicking around,' huh? I’m fighting the good fight out there.” There was a pause before they both erupted in uproarious laughter, shaking Junkrat's shoulders and Roadhog's belly. Every single wheezing breath Hog took only made Junkrat laugh harder. He'd never had it so good and he knew it. He wished that he could hang onto this feeling, tuck it away for when he was alone again, but he knew it wouldn't work. The only thing that ever mattered was what was happening in the moment. But at least that meant that right now, this moment was everything, and this moment was good.

Roadhog got up to change and get ready for bed, leaving Junkrat to take off his arm and leg in peace. Too exhausting to put on pajamas now; he'd just have to sleep in the shirt and pants he'd been wearing all day (plus a sweater! Junkrat hated wearing shirts, but it was cold as a witch's tit up here, and he shivered no matter what he had on). He flopped back on the bed and let his eyes drift shut, comforted by the sounds of running water as Roadhog brushed his teeth in the bathroom. That was something Junkrat should really do more often, brush his teeth. Roadhog made a habit of it whenever it was possible, chewed on sticks in the Outback when he had to, but Junkrat wasn't great at forming healthy habits. He only ever remembered to eat because Roadie reminded him, after all, and even then it wasn’t much. He remembered the baby again, but the shock wasn't sickening this time - more like being splashed in the face with cold water than hurdling out of an airplane at thirty thousand feet.

The bed creaked as Roadhog lay down beside him. Both Junkers curled into their normal positions, Roadhog wrapping his arms around Junkrat, Junkrat holding those giant hands together at his front for extra safety. Like puzzle pieces, except that Junkrat never got frustrated and took a hammer to the whole thing like he sometimes did with puzzles. The lights flicked off and Junkrat hummed in contentment.

“Love you, Mako,” he said.

“Love you, too, Jamie,” came the reply. Silence. Then:

“Did you make the mess in this room?”

“Think you already know the answer to that one, love.” A low grumble.

“We'll deal with it in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have the next chapter out next weekend, the same as I've been doing, but I'm not sure I'll make it. I like to keep a couple chapters ahead of what I'm posting, and the next chapter I'm writing is going into some territory I don't have as clearly mapped. I really like chapter four, though, and I'm looking forward to posting it!
> 
> again, thank you so so much for your kudos and comments! I honestly didn't expect this kind of overwhelmingly positive response, and it makes me very happy to see that people are liking it, and it gives me the confidence to continue putting my writing out there. thank you!!!
> 
> p.s. "pregnant" isn't an easy word for some people to remember - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EShUeudtaFg


	5. Chapter Four: Fuck What the Doctor Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog and Junkrat announce the good news to Angela. Then Junkrat flips the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't have a ton to say about this chapter! I like it a whole lot, and I had a good time writing it. the chapter I just finished writing today (the seventh, I think? counting the prologue?) was like ten pages - so, a bit longer than usual - and it was a pain in the ass to write, so I'm a little burnt out right now. I was really glad that I went back and mostly edited this one while I was procrastinating on the other!
> 
> *trigger warnings this chapter: absolute meltdowns/freakouts, physical restraint, mentions of disordered eating*

Roadhog had insisted that they wait a couple of days to go see Dr. Ziegler again. “Just to give it some time,” he said. Junkrat resented the implication that he might be acting rashly, but, knowing that he  _ did _ act rashly on a regular basis, he couldn't be that offended. Besides, he knew that Roadhog was just trying to protect him. It was a big choice he was making, and Roadie had made it expressly clear that Junkrat could change his mind at any time, “even after we talk to the doc.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, all of that rational bullshit, but Junkrat was starting to feel a little bit tingly about the whole thing. The panic was, of course, still there – Junkrat had the ability to fixate on even the smallest of stressors, and this was a pretty big one – but there was also a little bit of excitement at the thought of it.  _ His _ baby. His and Mako's. Him and Roadie, parents. He couldn't help but giggle periodically, the whole absurd thing filling his stomach with giddy butterflies.

Hana and Lucio had come over the day after the Big News to check and make sure that he was okay. Carefully tight-lipped, he had rocked back and forth on his heel and nodded enthusiastically.

“ You sure, dude?” asked Lucio, eyebrow quirked. “You seem pretty messed up about it yesterday.” Junkrat nodded again, just as vigorously as before.

“ Of course, mate!” He waved a hand dismissively. “I'm pretty messed up most of the time, no worries.” Lucio and Hana exchanged glances, neither looking all that convinced. “I'm foine! I'm foine, no need to fuss over the ol' Rat.”

“ I'm happy for you, Junkrat. But what about,” Hana leaned in and whispered. “The situation?”

“ All figured out, sheila,” said Junkrat, smiling and purposefully vague. He remembered what Hog had told him – best not to say anything about it until he was sure of his decision. Junkrat thought he was pretty sure right at that moment, but he figured it was better to trust Roadie on this one. Plus, the kid was his, too. He should get a say.

“ Figured… out?” asked Hana. Junkrat grinned, leaning down to pat her gently on the head.

“ Aaaaaall taken care of,” he said. “Now, if you don't mind, I gotta skedaddle. Meeting up with Roadhog for breakfast. Don't wanna keep the big guy waiting. You understand, right?” Without waiting for a response, Junkrat had dashed off to the dining hall for what was possibly his first daytime meal there since he'd gotten to Gibraltar. If it happened to be a spoonful of oatmeal in an entirely empty dining hall, then so be it. For the few days between that conversation and the doctor's appointment, he'd avoided contact with the pair, which was a bit difficult given the proximity of their rooms. Every time they sighted him he flashed a smile, gave a quick salute, and sprinted off in the opposite direction like Pink Lady was chasing him. Not easy, but he couldn't stick around with them for too long or he knew he'd spill everything. By the time the appointment rolled around, he felt like he was on fire… more than usual.

“ Come on, Roadie!” he practically screeched. “We gotta get to the doc! Move yer ass!” His metal hand gripped onto the few fingers they could actually wrap themselves around and pulled as hard as he could. Unfortunately (and predictably), that wasn't actually hard enough make a difference. Roadhog continued at his own pace; it didn't take long before Junkrat was sweating and gasping for breath, trying in vain to dig his pegleg into the smooth floor tile.

“ Why… aren't… you… moving?” he ground out between breaths.

“ I am moving,” said Roadhog. “Slow down. Doc's not going anywhere.”

“ Neither are we at this rate,” growled Junkrat. His tone switched to a pleading whine, “C'mon, Roadie, I wanna be there already. I'm tired of not telling anyone.” He blinked up at his partner with the biggest eyes possible. He knew he was kind of an ugly little fucker (even if Roadhog insisted that he wasn't), but maybe he could muster enough cuteness to get his way this one time. Roadhog snorted.

“ You've been slipping, Rat,” he said. Junkrat's face began to contort in anger – how dare Roadhog suggest that he was in anything but top form – but Roadhog cut him off. “Floor's too smooth. You can't keep running everywhere. Don't want you hurting yourself. Or the baby.” Junkrat softened, his grip on Roadhog's fingers loosening.

“ Oh,” he said. “Didn't think about it like that.”

“ 'S why I'm here,” said Roadhog. He looked down, and Junkrat could imagine his lens-covered eyes scanning over his exhausted body, trembling slightly from the exertion. “You look tired.”

“ Course I'm tired, ya heifer,” said Junkrat weakly. “You're not exactly a lightweight, you know.” Usually, he would have enough fight in him to keep it up for a little bit longer, but he'd been absolutely exhausted recently. Probably another baby thing, now that he thought about it. Silently, Roadhog scooped him up in those massive arms of his, carrying him bridal-style through the Watchpoint's hallways. A thought - a great thought, a hilarious thought - occurred to Junkrat as they approached the doctor's office and he barked out a laugh.

“ Carrying me across the threshold, are you?” he asked, craning his neck to look up at Roadhog. “Gonna marry me now that you've gone and knocked me up? Ohhhh, I can hear the wedding bells already!” He started humming what he could remember of the wedding march, which even he could tell was garbled and off key.

“ Shut up,” groaned Roadhog, and Junkrat felt the satisfaction of knowing he was blushing under that mask. He giggled and briefly nuzzled Roadie's chest like a particularly affectionate cat. As soon as they crossed the doorway, though, he stretched out his arms and kicked out his peg leg, displaying himself as the star of the show.

“ Ladies, gentlemen, doctors of all persuasions!” he announced, catching sight of the stunned Dr. Z and grinning. “Allow me to present to you the one and only Jamison Fawkes!” He leapt from Roadhog's arms and stumbled dangerously on the floor. Roadhog hauled him up with a quick hand under the arm. People tended to underestimate Hog's reflexes because he was a big guy. Huge mistake.

“ Rat,” he warned, his voice a rumble almost too low to hear.

“ Roight, roight, sorry ’bout that,” apologized Junkrat, even though he wasn't sure that the little thing inside his belly could get hurt right now. “Gotta be more careful.” Dr. Ziegler aimed a tight-lipped smile in his direction.

“ Mr. Fawkes,” she said, her voice somehow coming across as mild and strained at the same time. “You seem to be in much better spirits than you were last time we met.”

“ Oh, for sure!” said Junkrat, tapping his fingers against one another and delighting in the feeling of metal hitting skin. “Feelin a lot better, now. I've made me choice! I'm gonna be a dad, and Roadie here is gonna be one, too!”

“ Oh?” asked the doctor. “So, Mr. Rutledge will be co-parenting, then?” Junkrat rolled his eyes. He knew that he and Roadhog had been trying to keep their  _ relationship _ (Junkrat hated that word) a secret, but some people were so dense when it came to connecting the dots. Big, dark dots. With numbers next to them so you knew where to draw the lines.

“ Well, yeah, what with him being the other dad and all. He's my...” he looked up at Roadhog, searching for the word. “Boyfriend? Partner? Husband?"

“ Partner,” said Roadhog after a moment of consideration.

“ Yeah,” agreed Junkrat. “But  _ partner  _ partners, not just partners in crime. Even though we are that, too. We're a regular power couple! The dynamite duo!” He snickered at his own joke.

“ Dynamic,” corrected Roadhog.

“ What's that now?” asked Junkrat.

“ Dynamic,” said Roadhog. “Dynamic duo. Not dynamite.” Junkrat's mouth twisted into a petulant frown.

“ Well, you knew what I meant!” he said. “And so did the doc. Ain't that right, Dr….”

“ Ziegler,” she filled in. “Call me Angela, though. Please.” Her eyes had bounced back and forth between the two men in front of her during their whole exchange, and she had the hazy look of someone who was beginning to get a bit lost. Junkrat guessed that made sense; he and Roadie weren't used to talking too much to outsiders, and outsiders weren't used to hearing much of them. Usually didn't live long enough to get used to it. Heh. The doctor – Angela – quickly regained her composure. “So, you've decided to carry the pregnancy to term, then?”

“ If that means I'm keepin' it, then yeah,” said Junkrat impatiently. Never had liked doctors very much, especially when they were using doctor-y words. Mostly, he just wanted Angela to congratulate him, give him some baby pills (or whatever it was she was going to do), and send him on his merry way. Right now, it didn't look like he was going to get what he wanted. Which was another thing at the tip-top of his shit list: not getting what he wanted.

“ Alright, then,” said Angela. She smiled – a real, warm thing that almost made Junkrat like her a little bit more. Even if she was a doctor. “Well, first off, congratulations on your pregnancy, Mr. Fawkes. And to you, Mr. Rutledge. I'm sure you'll make,” she faltered just a bit, “wonderful parents.” Junkrat readied an attack position, but Roadhog gripped onto his shoulder again. No, no, Roadhog was right. No fighting the doctor.

“ And I would like to assure you,” she continued. “That you will be in the best of care while I am watching over you. All of my technology and methods are state of the art. Beyond state of the art, even.” She gave a smirk. Junkrat thought that he liked that about her, too – that little touch of arrogant pride. And he'd have to find ways of liking his doctor during the pregnancy.

“ Naturally, I have my medical recommendations for the pregnancy,” said the doctor. “The first being that you really  _ must _ start taking proper care of your body. I know that you grew up in a much different situation from what most of us here experienced, but the habits you formed in the Outback cannot continue during your pregnancy. In fact, you're already starting out at a disadvantage because of your time in the Outback. You'll need to get in the habit of personal care routines. I'm giving you a multivitamin that you are to take every day in an attempt to combat your current state of malnutrition, in addition to the normal prenatal vitamins I would administer. You are to eat three full meals a day – I haven't seen you in the dining hall even once since you've been here. Take food and eat in your room if you must, but make sure that you are eating properly. Mr. Rutledge, can you see to that?” Junkrat furrowed his brow – he could damn well take care of himself, thanks much – but Roadhog just nodded. Dr. Z smiled. “Good. I do recommend eating meals in the dining hall, though, for the social aspect. You don't seem terribly comfortable here, and it wouldn't be a bad thing to have a support system during a stressful time like this.”

“ What're you supposed to be, me shrink?” Junkrat spat. He did, however, have to admit (privately, very quietly, never let her know) that it might be nice to eat with Skates and the Bunny. “Cut the feelings shit and tell me how else to live me life.”

“ Of course,” said the doctor, surprisingly mild. She must've been getting used to Junkrat's, er. Style of communication. “I've also noticed your, um… state of dental hygiene? I don't mean to offend, Mr. Fawkes, but taking care of your teeth is going to become incredibly important during your pregnancy, as gum disease has been linked to premature birth and low birth weight. In fact, I would very much like to take a look at your teeth and gums myself…”

“ I'll bite yer fuckin' hand off,” said Junkrat. The statement was quickly followed by a wave of anxiety as he remembered what the doctor had said about threats before. He instinctively grabbed at his harness in case of retaliation. The doctor, however, merely nodded her head serenely

“ I anticipated as much,” she said. “So I'm going to prescribe you an extra-strength restorative toothpaste and provide an electric toothbrush for you. You are to brush three times a day. Do not skip brushings. Again, your pregnancy is already at a higher risk because of your previous history. I assure you that you are in the best possible care, but it's time to start undoing that damage. I don't want anything perfectly preventable going wrong.”

“ Going… wrong?” asked Junkrat, suddenly feeling very small. He absently placed a hand against his belly, still perfectly flat. The doctor nodded severely.

“ I won't make a laundry list of complications,” she said. “There are hundreds of things that could go wrong in any pregnancy. And seeing as you haven't lived the healthiest lifestyle up until now–” Junkrat curled a lip, but the doctor raised her hands in an appeasing gesture, “–through no fault of your own, there are even further risks for you.” Suddenly feeling queasy, Junkrat twisted his hands over his stomach.

“ Still, there is a large chance that your pregnancy will go smoothly,” the doctor rushed to add. “We just have to take every necessary precaution. Does that make sense?” It didn't, really. Most of the words made sense individually, but the way the doc talked made his head spin in circles. He glanced anxiously up at Roadhog.

“ We just have to be more careful,” Roadhog paraphrased lowly. “We’ll probably be fine. Listen to the doctor.” He sounded so calm, so sure of himself. Junkrat nodded at the doctor.

“ Makes perfect sense,” he said. “Lay it on me, doc. What else do I gotta do?”

“ Alright,” said the doctor, grabbing a tablet from a nearby table (one of those real fancy things, the ones that could holo-project without even flickering, though she turned that off with a touch of a button as soon as she picked it up). She held the tablet closer to her face and glanced at Junkrat over the top. “I will warn you that you're not going to like many of these recommendations.” Junkrat merely tapped his toe at her.

“ First off, you're going to start feeling tired a lot more quickly than you probably have previously,” she said. “In fact, you've probably started to feel that already. With most pregnancies there will also come morning sickness – don't let the name fool you, you can get sick at any time of the day. Nausea and vomiting are common. You may feel some aches and pains that feel like those you would experience during menstruation. That is, during your period. Backaches, as well. This is all to say that you, like every other pregnant person, need to be aware of your limits and  _ rest _ when you are tired.

“ I will admit that I do not know you that well, but you seem to me like the kind of person who doesn't know when to slow down. Is that a correct assessment?” Junkrat resolutely shook his head as Roadhog silently nodded. The doctor raised her hand to hide a smile and a laugh behind it before continuing.“Normally, in your… line of work, you might very rightly not listen to your body's demands for sleep. You cannot do that anymore. If you are feeling tired, you must rest. Similarly, if you are feeling hungry, you  _ must _ eat.” A small groan involuntarily escaped Junkrat's lips, and the doctor cocked her head to the side. “Is there a problem with that?”

“ No, no,” said Junkrat, vigorously shaking his head. “No trouble at all.” Roadhog grunted.

“ Rat's got sensory issues,” he said. “Trouble eating.”

“ Why'd you hafta tell her that, now?” whined Junkrat. Roadhog's glassy black eyes stared directly at him in a way that once would have been pants-shittingly terrifying.

“ Medically important,” he said. Junkrat groaned again.

“ It's weird, alright?” he said. “Some of the food out here, stuff that's not from Oz. Bugs and rabbits and lizards is natural. What the fuck is a 'banana' supposed to be?”

Mushy and sweet and slimy. Disgusting. Fruits were disgusting. Most vegetables, too. When he'd escaped the hell that was the Outback, he'd been so excited to try all the foods this new world had to offer, especially since they were significantly less radioactive than what he was used to. Who'd've thought he'd miss the overgrown spiders and scrawny two-headed snake-lizards once he was out? And eating had always been a bit of a tricky business for him. For most of his life, he'd needed to eat whatever he could find in order to survive, but half of what he put in his mouth made him feel sick. Too mushy or slimy or mealy or sticky or… too much of a million different things. Food that did stay down sat heavily in his stomach. The only non-scavenged food that had ever gone down easy was, unfortunately for his health, junk food. Roadhog had been trying to help him eat healthier, but even after over a year of freedom from the Outback, they were still struggling to find ways of keeping him well-fed.

“ I'm sure that we can work out a diet that will meet both your needs and your unborn child's,” said the doctor. “Start by finding foods you can eat in the dining hall without getting sick, and we'll go from there. I'll also provide you with a daily multivitamin and a nutritional shake. These aren't replacements for meals, especially long-term, so I want you to really work on finding real foods that you can keep down so that eventually you only need to use these as supplements. It is absolutely critical that you put on weight, Mr. Fawkes.” Weary from the sermon, Junkrat sighed.

“ Understood,” he said. “Can we wrap it up, doc? I'm getting a bit tired. S'posed to rest when I'm tired, roight?” The doctor let out a little laugh at that.

“ Absolutely correct,” she said. “I apologize for flooding you with information. I will admit that my bedside manner could use some work. I'll try to keep it short for now. We'll have plenty more time to discuss future concerns as they pop up.”

“ Ta,” said Junkrat weakly, trying not to think too hard on all those “future concerns.”

“ Of course,” said the doctor. The corners of her smile turned down and her brows knitted together, like she had something concerning on her mind. If she didn't say what it was in the next three seconds, Junkrat was going to grab her shoulders and shake her. She couldn't just make that face and not say what was wrong. Luckily, she decided to speak before he did something that would get every Overwatch member in the building on his pregnant ass.

“ There is one recommendation I'm going to have to make that I know you won't like.”

“ Go for it,” said Junkrat.

“ Your explosives…” she started, shaking her head. “There are too many harmful chemicals. I can't risk you inhaling or touching anything that will harm the baby.” In the short time it took for him to process just what, exactly, the doctor was telling him, rage coiled tight in Junkrat's stomach and sprung.

“ What?” he demanded. “You want me to give up me bombs? No, no, no, doc, that ain't right, you must have me confused with some other bloke. Someone who's gonna let some doctor tell him to give up his life's work.”

“ This isn't optional,” said the doc firmly. “For the next nine months, you are not to assemble, handle, or dismantle explosives. Doctor's orders.”

“ Doctor's orders?” he screeched. “This is bullshit! You Overwatch bastards just want to keep me in line! Decided, oh, Rat's too dangerous with his explosives. What can we do to housebreak him like a fucking dog? Oh, sure, why not take away the one way he can defend himself on his own? Fucking brilliant! What did you hire me for at all if I can't make me bombs?” Roadhog's hand had come down on his shoulder again, this time gripping it tightly, as if reminding him of the stakes of losing control here. Junkrat yanked his arm away from his partner, narrowing his eyes up at the massive man. “Don't fuckin’ touch me, you bloody traitor! You're on her side? Do you hear what she wants me to do? Give up me bombs, Roadie! It's a trap! They're going to turn me in for themselves, to fund the organization or some shit! Can't you see?”

“ Mr. Fawkes, your anxiety is completely justified, but now it is crossing into para–” Junkrat was about to lunge at her when a pair of large arms locked around his chest like a cage. He thrashed and screamed and scratched and bit at them to no avail. Right now, he could barely even process that they were attached to a person, just that there was danger and they were holding him back from fighting it, making  _ them _ a part of the danger, too.

“ Forgive my partner,” he could just barely hear over the ringing and rushing blood in his ears. “He doesn't know what he's doing.”

“ I know what I'm doing, you fuckin’ pig!” He put all his weight into another throw against the arms trapping him. It didn't work; those arms were like one of those finger traps, the ones that only held on tighter when you tried to get out.

“ Jamison!” said Roadhog. “I'm trying to help you!” Junkrat found a good spot on one of the arms and sank his teeth into it, a last resort as the struggle stole the last of his strength. He bit as hard as he could, but his captor didn't make a single sound, didn't even flinch. The last of the furious energy drained out of Junkrat – damned kid, sucking all the fight out of him. He'd struggled against iron chains for longer than that before. He went limp in the arms around him.

Roadhog's arms. Fuck. One of his bodyguard's hands was in his hair now, massaging his scalp. Felt nice. Cold guilt began to pool in Junkrat's gut. He looked at Roadhog's arm to check for damage. Bite marks, ragged scratches, but no blood. Thick skin. Warm skin.

“ Can we end the visit here?” asked Roadhog. Through half-closed eyes, Junkrat saw the doctor nod her head.

“ Certainly,” she murmured.

“ Thanks,” said Roadhog. He scooped Junkrat up, just like he had when they were on their way to the appointment. How long ago had that been? Months? Years? Junkrat turned his head to bury it in Roadhog's chest. Big. Strong. Good. “He's calm now. No security.” Junkrat couldn't hear a response from the doctor, and Roadhog left the lab with his smaller partner in his arms. Rat closed his eyes for the rest of the journey to their room, until Roadhog placed him on their bed, until he could feel the tears pooling in their corners.

“ I'm sorry, Roadie,” he choked out. “Got so bad. I'm sorry.”

“ No blood drawn,” said Roadhog. “Didn't get your rat rabies. You wanna talk about it?” Junkrat squeezed his eyes closed again.

“ No,” he said. He opened them, let the tears track down the sides of his face. “Yes.”

“ You freaked,” said Roadhog, and Junkrat swore he could feel ice crystals form in his chest. Roadhog was mad. Why wouldn't he be, after that hideous display Junkrat had just put on? “I understand.” Junkrat let out a massive breath, though the dread that Roadhog hated him still lingered. Always lingered. Roadhog's hand was right next to him. He lifted it and threaded his skinny fingers through the much larger ones.

“ Love you,” he said quietly.

“ Love you, too,” said Roadhog. He went quiet, the thoughtful kind of quiet he sometimes got into. Sometimes even got stuck in it for a while. But that was why Junkrat was there, right? To badger him back into the real world. “Do you still want it?”

“ Huh?” asked Junkrat.

“ The baby,” explained Roadhog. “Do you still want it?” Junkrat started, sat bolt upright.

“ Course I do!” he said. “Why, don't you want it anymore? It's gonna make me crazier, isn't it, you don't want me to get crazier, that's it, roight?” Couldn't handle the idea of raising a kid with someone so volatile? Well, that'd be fair, wouldn't it? But Roadhog shook his head.

“ Didn't know if you would,” he said. “With all these rules.” Junkrat shook his head, leaned it against Roadhog's shoulder.

“ Still do, love,” he said. “It's you and me. I lost it back there, a little. Felt like I was in the Outback again, for a second. Forgot that I was here. Safe. With you. This thing's gonna be you and me, and we're gonna love the fuck outta it, and it's gonna be great. The whole pregnancy is what, like, a year?”

“ Nine months,” corrected Roadhog.

“ It's gonna blow, and not in the good way.” Junkrat giggled. “Well, either of the good ways. But it's not forever. Kid's gonna be the rest of our lives.”

“ Parts of that're gonna blow, too,” said Roadhog.

“ You think I don't know that?” snapped Junkrat, but he softened himself before he could say anything he might regret. Roadhog was just reminding him. “I know that. I think most of it'll be pretty good, though, right? And the bad parts, we'll get through together. Especially the next year.”

“ Nine months,” corrected Roadhog.

“ I'm still game if you are,” said Junkrat.

“ I'm in,” replied Roadhog.

“ Good,” said Junkrat. He yawned and lay back down on the bed. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna take a nap. Doc said I've gotta sleep when I'm tired.” His eyes began to drift closed once again. “Shit, I sure owe her an apology, huh?”

“ Probably,” said Roadhog.

“ I'll write her a note,” he said. He could feel Roadhog's laugh, silent though it was. Good. He'd been hoping that'd get a chuckle out of the big guy. “Thought you might like that one. I'll tell you what to write, and you can write it for me. Maybe on that cute piggy paper we picked up in Hanamura. What'd she say her name was, anyway?”

“ Angela,” said Roadhog. “She asked you to call her Angela.”

“ Angela,” repeated Junkrat. “That's pretty. 'Dear Angela. Sorry for going completely bonkers in your shiny lab. How's about some gold to make up for it? Sure we could work out…”

He didn't even finish the sentence before sleep took him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meltdowns are so tiring! and poor Angela. honestly, she's gotta catch a break at some point (I say as the author of this fic and the person who controls what happens to her). there's gonna be a lot more of the Golden Trio in the next chapter, so stay tuned!
> 
> thank you again for all the kudos and comments! they really are the boost I need to keep me writing this fic. also, if you wanna communicate with me on tumblr, I've got one of those at g4yr4t.tumblr.com ! it's a mess with no real theme to it, though, so don't get your hopes up or anything, lol.


	6. Chapter Five: Doctor's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Junkrat figures he should probably listen to his doctor. He takes a few of her recommendations and gets a little closer to some friends in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I didn't have a title for this fic for a long time because I didn't think I would publish it, so it's just "shut up and leave me alone.doc" on my computer.
> 
> hey friends! even though the last chapter I wrote was a pain in the ass, I'm still sticking to my informal not-schedule, so I'm pretty proud of myself! I made this chapter much lighter on the angst for your benefit. it was kind of a pain to write for some reason, but I can't really remember why. I do remember thinking "jesus fuck I hate my writing why does anyone read this crap" several times, though. thankfully I feel a lot better about it now! thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> *tw for disordered eating aaaaaaaaand I think that's it. oh. some tooth-brushing-related blood*

The first time Junkrat brushed his teeth, it looked like a crime scene in the sink. And he would know – he'd been at plenty of crime scenes. Caused most of them, even! Blood on his hands, in his mouth, in the sink, the whole shebang, but without the comforting scent of gunpowder lingering on his skin. Just blood and a lot of pain, even before he had gotten to the part where he was supposed to put a string between his teeth. What the hell was that about, anyway?

It wasn't like he'd never brushed his teeth before. Junkrat tried to brush at least twice a month. “Tried to” being the operative phrase. Now he was supposed to brush three times a day? Could his body even physically stand to lose that much blood?

With an escort from Roadhog and a note written on pink pig stationary, Junkrat had sheepishly approached the doctor – Angela – the next day. He really was sorry about what had happened between them. Whether or not he fully trusted her, Angela seemed like a nice lady. And, in his more clear-headed moments after the incident, Junkrat had come to the conclusion that she and Overwatch weren't conspiring to take away his bombs and sell him out for the bounty. Bereft of his grenade harness and RIP-tire and holding his hands in the air to indicate that he was free of weapons, Junkrat walked up to the doctor, handed her the note, and then backed away slowly, all like it was a hostage negotiation likely to go south. After scouring his face with ice-blue eyes, the doctor had read Junkrat's letter (which was, thanks to Roadhog, very neatly written and completely free of spelling errors… Junkrat had signed his own name, though). She had spent a moment thinking on the apology before accepting and getting all of Junkrat's prescriptions in order.

Three times a day, she had said. And Junkrat was going to listen to everything she said now. Not only did he feel guilty about exploding at her, he was also doing his best to keep the baby in mind. Roadhog had explained that if the baby came out too soon, it could get sick or even die from it. If brushing his teeth was something Junkrat could do to keep that from happening, then he was willing to put up with it the taste and the foam and the water dripping down his arm.

But was it supposed to bleed this much? Junkrat left the bathroom to bear his teeth at his partner.

“Does this look right to you?” he asked.

“Fuck no,” said Roadhog. “Should've let the doc take a look at your teeth.”

“No way!” said Junkrat. “One wrong move and I would've snapped down on her like a croc. It was for her good, not mine.” Roadhog rolled his eyes at that, but said nothing more on Junkrat's generosity and thoughtfulness.

“It's bleeding because your gums aren't used to being brushed,” he said instead. “Anything feel loose in there?” Junkrat ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his teeth, pushing gently on each one before moving on to the next. The tang of metal was sharp in his mouth.

“Nope,” he concluded.

“You're probably fine,” said Roadhog. “It'll get better after you brush a few times. Keep it up, Rat.” Junkrat nodded grinned, showing off all of his bloody teeth. Roadhog made a face. “Get back in the bathroom and spit that out. You look like a demon.” Much as Junkrat liked the sound of that, he assented and headed back to the bathroom to rinse and spit. Even the water made his teeth ache a bit. They were supposed to be living in a modern world, but they didn’t have better ways of keeping teeth clean yet? He grimaced and looked in the mirror. This was for the baby. He liked the baby. It was a good baby. And a good baby deserved a dad with good teeth.

A dad with good teeth and good nutritional habits, he reminded himself, grimacing. He'd mostly been snatching scraps of food from the kitchen at night without much regard to their nutritional value – bits of meat, overcooked and tough, crunchy things like pretzels, sometimes even bones he could gnaw on like an animal. When he was really in the zone, he didn't feel like he needed food at all (or sleep, for that matter), and would keep working on whatever he was working on until he was shaking and Roadhog asked him if he had eaten that day. Not that he ate much more when he wasn't in that headspace; he just felt hungrier while he was working. Next to the no‑bombs thing, eating properly was going to be the hardest part.

“We're going to the dining hall,” announced Roadhog one afternoon. Junkrat had been doodling schematics for new concussion mines all day. The doctor may have forbidden him from making new explosives, but there weren't any rules against drawing them up, for all he knew. And if there were, Angela could stuff it, because that was where he drew the line. Junkrat's writing hand froze over the paper as he looked up at his bodyguard.

“What, mate?” he asked.

“For lunch,” said Roadhog. “We're going to the dining hall. I'm on base today, so I can go with you. You can go by yourself when I'm gone.” Junkrat grinned and launched himself at Roadhog, wrapping his arms around broad shoulders.

“You wanted to go with me so I'd be less scared!” he exclaimed in delight. “Ya big softie!”

“Food's pretty good there,” said Roadhog. He didn't acknowledge Junkrat's comment, but Rat could feel the heat rising up his neck and smiled even wider. “Even better when it's hot.” The last part came across as rather pointed – Roadhog had been helping him on some of his late-night runs to the kitchen, always taking far more than Junkrat would eat. Junkrat untangled his arms and pouted.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Did I hire you for your sarcasm?”

“No, Boss,” said Roadhog. He smiled, one of his lower canines poking out over his lips as he did so. “But you haven't fired me for it yet.” Junkrat smiled back at him, blushing from the mere sight of Roadhog's face. Damn him.

“I could never fire you,” he said. “You're sleeping with the boss.”

“True,” said Roadhog. He stood and hauled Junkrat up by the arm. “Let's go.” Junkrat tried to dig his heel and peg into the floor.

“Wait wait wait!” he said. “It's the middle of the day, Roadie! All those people there, sitting around, watching me eat!”

“Pretty sure other people will mostly be eating, too,” said Roadhog, continuing to pull Junkrat along behind him. “No one's gonna attack you, Rat. It's not Oz. Long as you don't pull any shit, you'll be fine.”

“And if I do pull some shit, you'll be there, right?” said Junkrat.

“Don't pull any shit,” warned Roadhog. “Now, are you gonna walk with me, or do I have to drag you the whole way?” Junkrat sighed and straightened into a more appropriate walking position. Still, he relaxed his body just enough to be inconvenient. He had accepted that he was going to the dining hall, but he didn't have to be happy about it. Roadhog made no comment as he toted Junkrat through the halls.

The dining hall was a pretty big space, big enough for several large, separated tables and more than one commercial-style garbage can. Grey floors, grey walls, fluorescent lights – it didn't look all that different from any of the prison cafeterias Junkrat had been in, except that it was a good deal cleaner. It wasn't exactly as full as he'd thought that it would be, considering it was right in the middle of what the general public would consider lunch hours, but Roadhog reminded him that, at any time, a number of the Overwatch team were on remote missions. He did scope out Skates and Bunny right away, though, brightly dressed as they were.

“Hey, I know them!” he said, tugging at Roadhog's arm excitedly. “See, that's Bunny Girl, and that right there is Skates.”

“Hana Song and Lucio Correia dos Santos,” said Roadhog.

“How did you know that?” asked Junkrat. Roadhog shrugged.

“I know most people's names,” he said. “Been with a lot of them on the field. Plus, you run into a lot of people if you don't hide in your room.” Junkrat was readying a retort when a shout from across the dining hall drew his attention.

“Hey, Junkrat!” called Lucio, waving an arm. “Come sit with us!”

“You, too, Roadhog!” added Hana, though Lucio's smile went a little wobbly at that. Junkrat couldn't help but crack a grin at that. Sure, he knew that Roadhog was a perfectly safe person to be around if he wasn't threatened, but so far he was the only one at the Watchpoint who did. Watching people get worked up over Roadhog was one of his favorite hobbies, even when he knew that he probably wouldn't crush their skulls. Probably. Meanwhile, the rest of the dining hall's occupants turned their head to see what the commotion was about. Pink Lady was absent, but Knight-Knight and the big monkey man were both there, which made him less than comfortable. Not that he doubted Roadhog's ability to keep him safe. He never would. Still, the group was far better equipped to deal with the duo if something went wrong than a police squad or a bunch of scrawny Junkers were. He grabbed Roadhog's hand and hurried over to Hana and Lucio's table.

“Hana!” he said, trying for genial smile. “Lucio!”

“Hey, cool!” said Hana, her blush streaks almost looking like they were glowing. How'd she get them in such perfect triangles, anyway? “You remembered our names!” Junkrat giggled sheepishly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Remembered.”

“Helped him out a bit,” added Roadhog, to which Junkrat responded with a glare flashed in his direction. He turned his gaze to the other two and smiled.

“Told ya I wasn't great at remembering names, roight?” he said.

“Definitely,” said Lucio. His little device was on again, playing something a little more up tempo than the last time Junkrat had heard it. Still made him feel better, but not in the way the other one had. Just upbeat enough to make him think that this whole “eating” situation might be alright.

“Soooooooo,” said Hana, dragging out the 'o' for maybe three seconds before moving on. “Are you gonna get something to eat or what? We'll save you a spot. Not that anyone's dying to sit here or anything.” It was true. Everyone in the dining hall seemed perfectly content at their own tables. There was plenty of room for maybe three people evenly spaced out left on the benches. Or for Junkrat and Roadhog pressed together. Not that Junkrat minded that.

“Yeah,” said Roadhog, standing. “Let's go, Boss.”

“Roight behind ya!” said Junkrat, scrabbling up to follow him.

“Oh, wait, Junkrat!” exclaimed Hana. “Can I keep you for a sec, actually? I just remembered I wanted to ask you something.” Her voice reeked of false pretenses. She looked up at Roadhog. “You can head over, Roadhog; it'll only take a second.” She crossed her heart and smiled. “Promise.” Roadhog stared at her for a second (suspicious, Junkrat could tell), then looked back at Junkrat. Rat bit his lip, considering. Sure, it seemed innocent enough, but he didn't like to be without his bodyguard whenever he could avoid it. The word “friend” played in his head, echoing Lucio's voice from a few days before.

“Don't worry about it, big guy,” he said to Roadhog. Sure, he could be walking into a trap, but he reminded himself that this was Overwatch. Overwatch was supposed to be safe. And they had been so nice the other day. “I'll catch up to you.” Roadhog stared at him for another second, then shrugged and headed over to the buffet line.

“So,” said Junkrat. “What's this all about, then?”

“We just wanted to check in with you,” said Lucio. “You know, about the whole,” he lowered his voice, “baby situation?”

“Yeah,” whispered Hana. “Have you told Roadhog yet?”

“Oh, that!” said Junkrat, not bothering to keep quiet. “Yup, Roadie knows. We're keepin' the thing! Great, isn't it?” As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Lucio had let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing visibly. A slow smile began to tug the corners of Hana's mouth until a grin almost split her face apart. Heh. That thought had made quite a picture in Junkrat's mind. A smile cracking apart someone's face – wouldn't that be crazy?

“Congratulations!” Hana's shout broke through Junkrat's odd fantasy. In the half a second he had drifted off, she had shot out of her chair and rushed to stand in front of Junkrat. She opened her arms to wrap Junkrat in an embrace, then seemed to think better of it and put them back down. Junkrat considered the gesture for a moment before stooping down a little further and hugging her tightly. Sure, he didn't like hugging all that much normally, but it was a special occasion, and being the hugger was always better than being the hugged, anyway. They stayed like that for a little while before letting go. Junkrat could see Lucio, still sitting at the table but absolutely beaming at him with his shiny, white teeth. Doc wouldn't give him any special toothpaste if he got pregnant, Junkrat thought to himself.

He could also see that everyone in the dining hall was staring at him, with the exception of the small, beardy bloke, who continued to tuck into his meal like it was the first he'd ever eaten. Junkrat's grin twitched into a scowl, and they all went back to eating (again, except for the little man, who had never stopped). Junkrat locked eyes with Roadhog's mask.

“Oh!” he said. “Almost forgot, Roadie's waiting for me! Better go get something to eat. Dr. Angela said that I gotta start eating proper now that I've got the baby to worry about. Be back in a tick!” He sprinted unevenly over to Roadhog's side, leaving a slightly stunned Hana and Lucio in his wake.

“Hey there,” he said. “Don't s'pose ya caught any of that, did ya?” Roadhog nodded, but stayed silent. Junkrat's face fell. “What's wrong, Hoggie?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Don't know if I wanted the whole dining hall to find out, is all.”

“Oh,” said Junkrat thoughtfully. “Guess the conversation did get a little loud, didn't it?” Roadhog nodded again. “Well, what's the problem with that? They know I've got a brat on the way. So what?”

“You're okay with this?” asked Roadhog, his voice rough(er) with irritation. “They know you're trans now. And that you're pregnant. Makes you more vulnerable. It's not sa–”

“Not safe?” Junkrat finished for him. He lowered his voice again, made it gentle and soft and sweet. “We're not in Oz anymore. Said so yerself. We'll be fine. Roight?” It took a few seconds before Roadhog nodded and sighed, his grip easing where he had been white-knuckling the metal dining tray in his hands.

“You're right,” he said. Normally the words would've sprung Junkrat ten feet into the air and made him cackle like a madman, but right now he was more concerned with Roadhog's stressed‑out brain. “Still keep thinking like we're in the Outback. Even though I told you not to.”

“'S hard,” said Junkrat, rubbing soothing circles on Roadhog's arm.

“Yeah,” he said. He reached towards a serving spoon sticking out of a metal vat of what Junkrat recognized as mashed potatoes. Fantastic; there was at least one thing there that he could eat! A thought occurred to him.

“They probably all know we're 'together' now,” said Junkrat in a small voice, his metal fingers creaking a bit as he formed the finger quotes. Whole mechanism needed a little bit of oiling, a little bit of service. “You're not a big fan of that, are you?”

“What?” said Roadhog sharply, and Junkrat flinched. Noticing this, Roadhog brought his free hand up to massage Junkrat's scalp. “Sorry. Didn't mean for it to come out that way. Why would I have a problem with that?” Junkrat would've responded, but he was practically purring as the large fingers rubbed at the top of his head. “Now they know that if they mess with you, I'll kill them even harder.” Junkrat snorted at that.

“Kill ‘em harder,” he repeated back.

“Shut up,” groaned Roadhog. He withdrew his hand and returned his attention to the buffet line. “Get something to eat.” Junkrat felt a knot form in his stomach. Somehow in all this talk he'd forgotten what he was here to do. He grabbed a tray (stainless steel, the kind with the little compartments so the food wouldn't get all mixed up, Junkrat liked that) and tentatively reached for the mashed potatoes. He served himself a scoop and then looked up at Roadhog for approval.

“Good start,” said his partner. “Take two more things. A meat and a vegetable.”

“Potatoes are a vegetable!” complained Junkrat.

“Not nutritionally,” said Roadhog. He held up a hand and counted them off on his fingers. “Two things. Meat. Vegetable. Unless you want to go vegetarian. There's tofu scramble tonight.” Some of it was sitting in one of the compartments on Roadhog's tray. Junkrat sighed and grimaced at the array before him. To any other person – especially any other person who had spent most of his life starving half to death – the array might've looked delicious. Foods of every group, color, and method of preparation filled the metal containers before him. Junkrat knew he should be grateful. All he felt was nauseous. After a few long moments of consideration (Hog watching him the whole time), he served himself a small portion of what looked like pulled pork and grabbed a few of those round, pale-green vegetables he couldn't remember the name of. The ones that were mostly water and a few seeds. They were sliced up into discs, of which he grabbed four or five.

“There,” he grumbled. “Can we go now?”

“Sure,” said Roadhog. As the two approached the table, he added, “Proud of you, Rat.” Junkrat's whole face lit up red just in time for him to sit down across from Hana and Lucio. Hana snickered, while Lucio's face turned a shade darker.

“Aw, how cuuuute,” said Hana, smirking. “I'm voting you two class couple this year!”

“Shut up,” rumbled Roadhog, but his credibility was somewhat diminished by the tint of his ears. For Hana, at least. For Lucio, it was enough to elicit a small squeak of terror. Now it was Junkrat's turn to let loose a cackle. He elbowed Roadhog in the side.

“Hey!” he said. “Play nice with my friends, Roadie, or they won't come 'round no more.” Hana giggled some more, and Lucio looked like he might not shit his pants. He gulped and smiled nervously at the pair. Roadhog shook his head. He pushed his mask up enough to reveal his mouth (beautiful, beautiful mouth, great teeth, so much cleaner and stronger than Junkrat's, because he was amazing and also because he brushed his teeth) and took a bite of whatever vegetarian-soy-tofu-plant crap he had on his tray. As he chewed, he nudged Junkrat's arm.

“Eat something,” he said. Not a request. An order. Junkrat gulped and pretended not to notice the questions written all over his new friends' faces. This was why he didn't want to eat in front of people. That, and all the voices around him – they weren't that loud, but now that the food problem had gotten him all stressed, they were starting to press in like walls on a room that just kept getting smaller and smaller. To his embarrassment, he realized that he had started shaking, squeezed his eyes shut in the middle of the dining hall. A pair of hands on his shoulders and a kiss pressed to his forehead stilled him. He opened his eyes to see Roadhog, his mouth still the only part bared to the world, a few inches from his face.

“Hey,” he said. “You made it this far. You can do this.” Junkrat gulped again and nodded furiously. He turned his attention to his dining tray, and, after a few seconds of stressful deliberation, he settled on scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes and popping them in his mouth. Okay. This one would be easy. He tried not to focus on the mushy feeling in his mouth and swallowed the bite whole. Roadhog patted him on the back wordlessly.

“Hey,” said Lucio. Junkrat ripped his eyes away from his tray and looked up to see the DJ's face, his brows low over his eyes. “You alright, man?” Junkrat shook his head slightly, not in denial, but just to indicate that he wasn't fond of the subject.

He looked back at his food and muttered, “Don't wanna talk about it, mate.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hana. “If you're feeling sick, Lucio can…”

“Drop it,” growled Roadhog, and Junkrat realized that he had started shaking again. “He doesn't want to talk about it, so drop it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Lucio. “Hana was just trying to help. So chill, alright?” Roadhog looked like he was readying a retort. Much as Junkrat usually loved explosions, he had no desire to see one happen right here over his stupid food issues. He looked up and grinned at Lucio and Hana.

“It's fine, mates!” he said. “Don't worry yourselves over the ol' Rat. Just feelin' a little… squeamish for the last few weeks. Nothin' to get yourselves worked up over.” He looked up at Roadhog, still grinning, but pleading with his eyes not to make a fuss. “Roadie's just a little protective, roight?” Roadhog grunted, nodded, and went back to his own food. Refusing to look at Hana or Lucio, Junkrat popped a bite of pulled pork into his mouth. Chewy, a little bit tough. This he could get on board with; he could look back up at his friends across the table without shaking, his smile intact.

“Sorry, Junkrat,” said Hana. “We shouldn't have butted in like that. You're our friend, but I guess we don't really know you well enough for that kind of thing yet.”

“Maybe not, love,” agreed Junkrat. Lucio dipped his head apologetically.

“I'm sorry, dude,” he said. “I'm the support, y'know? I wanna take care of people. But you've got someone taking care of you already, huh?”

“Doesn't hurt to have more,” said Roadhog through his now pulled-down mask (how could he eat that much food so fast?), though he sounded a little reluctant.

“Yeah, I've decided that I could get on board with this whole 'friends' deal,” he said. “I'll get used to ya, okay? I'm gonna take some gettin' used to, too.” He let loose a cackle that echoed through the room, even filled with conversation as it was. “Nothin' could've prepared ya for the great and powerful Jamison Fawkes!” At the puzzled looks on his new friends' faces, he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “That's me.” Both parties across from him ohhhh'd in understanding.

“Keep it between yourselves, though,” said Junkrat. “Don't want people around here callin' me that. It's a private name.” He met Hana's brown eyes directly. “You get it, roight?”

“Um, duh,” said Hana, tapping her head. “You should get to pick what name people use for you. It's like. A human right, practically.”

“Glad you get it, sheila,” said Junkrat. He speared one of those round green things onto his fork and stuck it in his mouth. He immediately made a face. Blech! The outside part was nice and crunchy, had all that water his body desperately needed, but the seeds? Squishy. Slippery. Disgusting. He spat the mush out into a napkin.

“Not a good one?” asked Lucio. Junkrat shook his head.

“Don't think I like that thing,” he said. “You want it? They're green and all.” Lucio let out a surprised laugh, throwing his head back in this way that made Junkrat feel a little bit warmer inside, somehow.

“Sure, man,” said Lucio finally. “I am a pretty big fan of green.” Junkrat pushed his tray towards Lucio and let the little man with the big laugh transfer the vegetables to his own vegetable compartment.

Unfortunately, the encounter with the offensive vegetable had effectively soured Junkrat's already weak appetite. He left the rest of his meal untouched for the rest of their time in the dining hall, hoping that no one would mention it. And no one did. Not even Hog, who valiantly ignored Rat's lack of food intake after he had taken his first couple of bites. The four of them talked and laughed, no one mentioning the issue sitting on Junkrat's dining tray. Well, Junkrat and Hana and Lucio talked and laughed; Roadhog snorted, grunted, made various small gestures, and occasionally contributed a word or two to the conversation. Which meant that he was pretty engaged. As soon as Junkrat started yawning, though, all of Roadhog's attention was back on his partner.

“We should go back,” he said.

“Awwwwww,” whined Junkrat. “Ten more–” he yawned again “–minutes?”

“Rest,” said Roadhog. “Doctor's orders.” Junkrat moaned, but stood up from the table, taking his tray with him. Hana and Junkrat followed suit.

“No worries, man,” said Lucio. “We're right next to you, remember?”

“Yeah! We'll come with!” said Hana. That perked Junkrat up a little, though not enough to stem his seemingly uncontrollable yawning. The four made their way back to their respective rooms, still joking around, though Junkrat's energy had waned considerably on the walk over. Even being around Hana and Lucio made him feel better than he had since he had started at Overwatch. He'd decided that Mercy was probably right about this whole socialization thing, and that maybe Hana and Lucio and, for that matter, the doctor, weren't spies or secret bounty hunters, after all.

In the next week, Junkrat actually managed to make getting to the dining hall for at least one meal a routine of his. Occasionally he could even make it there for two meals, but most of the time it was just the one. And he couldn't always make himself eat that much. It was easier when Roadhog was there, but sometimes he had to go with Hana and Lucio, or just one of them, or a combination of two of his three food buddies, because of missions and the like. But Junkrat had to admit that it was better than sneaking through the halls at night and stealing leftovers to eat back in his room. Besides, a routine! Of his very own! And one that was much more pleasant than the whole tooth-brushing thing.

One morning, Junkrat had just finished brushing his teeth and was chugging down his pills with one of the nutritional shakes the doctor had given him (even though the blood gave the shake an unfortunate tang, and Roadhog insisted that toothpaste stuck to your taste buds and that was why it tasted so bitter) when something slid under their bedroom door. Cocking his head, Junkrat walked over to investigate. He could hear Hana and Lucio's whispers, but couldn't quite make out the words because they seemed to be heading away from the door. Curious, Junkrat slipped his hand over the paper and brought it to his face. On it were a bunch of words he couldn't understand, because Lucio and Hana didn't know yet how… shaky his reading abilities were.

“Roadie!” he shouted. “I need you to read something for me!” He turned to see Roadhog sitting on the bed with a book of his own, one hand pressed to his ear.

“I'm right here, Jamison,” he said.

“Sorry, love,” said Junkrat. Roadhog inclined his head.

“Bring it here,” he said. Junkrat complied, handing the paper to his partner.

“So,” he said. “What is it?”

“It's a… menu?” said Roadhog tentatively. “A list of foods. From the dining hall.” A thought seemed to occur to him. “Stuff that you like, Rat. So that you know what to eat. Lucio and Hana must've been watching what you were eating. There's a list of recommendations on here, too. Stuff they think you'd like.” As Roadhog spoke, Junkrat's vision started to blur with tears. “You okay, Jamie?”

“I'm foine,” said Junkrat, wiping his eyes with his arm. Things like that didn't leave streaks on his skin anymore – it was too clean after the whole “no-bombs” decree. “Why'd they do that?”

“'Cause they like you, Jamie,” said Roadhog. “They're your friends.” Now Junkrat was full-on crying, the hand covering his face wet with tears. Thankfully he had had the wherewithal to use his left hand, since tears on metal became a pain in the ass if not tended to promptly. And Junkrat never tended to anything promptly. Junkrat leaned into Roadhog's chest, felt the embrace envelop him.

“Stupid fuckin’ pregnancy hormones,” he cursed. “That was too nice of 'em.”

“I think I like 'em,” said Roadhog.

“Yeah,” said Junkrat. “Yeah. Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see? light on angst, heavy on fluff. next chapter's where the hormones really kick into full swing, so expect junkrat to be crying pretty much until the end. still don't know when that's happening, so prepare for indeterminate volumes of tears. 
> 
> hope you liked the chapter, and I'll hopefully have another update for you next weekend! again, feel free to message me @g4yr4t on tumblr!


	7. Chapter Six: It's Not Me, It's the Hormones!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat pulls some pranks and pisses off the wrong person. He also plays video games for the first time! So that's fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey! I didn't think that I was going to get to post this weekend, actually. I hadn't really written much of the new chapter this week, and when I did I was kind of at a loss. I've gotten to a point where I'm not outlined as clearly, and it's been throwing me off. anyway, I do like this chapter! I don't think there are any major triggers in this chapter, but be prepared for a lot of crying. and, of course, let me know if I'm wrong and I need to put a warning or two up here!

At about ten weeks, Junkrat put on his shorts and growled in frustration. Or, he tried to put on his shorts and growled in frustration. He had known that he was going to balloon up like a whale when he found out when he was pregnant, but somehow it didn't occur to him that that meant that his clothes would stop fitting. Especially his shorts, the only piece of clothing that actually mattered to him. Everything else here was new and clean, with sleeves and long pant legs, which he cut off on one side to keep his “crude but inventive” (a phrase the beardy bloke with the claw arm had used) leg from snagging and bulging out. He'd never been fond of the idea of skirts, but he was starting to welcome the prospect of something with more room for the sake of convenience alone.

His shorts, however, were a different matter. Chuck all the jeans, bugger all the shirts, let him near freeze to death in this non-burning “Mediterranean” hellscape, but his shorts? They were his shorts! And now they were almost too tight to zip up. Sighing in defeat, the Junker ditched his efforts with the zipper and flopped back on the bed.

“Roadie,” he called pathetically. “Help me.” Roadhog looked up from his book – something on pregnancy, Junkrat guessed, from the picture of the smiling woman with the watermelon stomach on the cover – and over at Junkrat.

“What's the problem, Boss?” he asked.

“Me shorts won't zip,” he said. “Help me?” Sighing, Roadhog closed his book and ambled over to Junkrat's side.

“Rat,” he said. “I don't think you're gonna get those on.”

“Why not?” whined Junkrat, tears pooling in his eyes. It was stupid; he knew damn well why. He was pregnant, and pregnant people put on weight and got bigger and swelled up to fit a little creature inside them. But right now, it just seemed so irrational, so fucking unfair. Those were his shorts, the disgusting ones he'd held onto since his Outback days, the only thing besides his bombs and harness and tire he'd managed to hold onto after getting with Overwatch. And those other things were all banned until he squeezed the damn kid out! Roadhog sat down beside him.

“Jamie,” he said. “You're supposed to get bigger. You know that. Look, you're starting to show a bit.” Junkrat looked down at his belly. Sure enough, it was starting to peek out from under his ribs, round and tight and strangely hard.“It's not a bad thing. Means the baby's growing right.”

“But why can't I put me shorts on?” he said. Now he was full-on crying, and he knew that Roadhog knew that the question wasn't about the shorts at all. Everything was going to change, and he had known that before, but now that it was happening it fucking sucked.

“It's hard,” said Roadhog. “I know it is. But it's not forever.”

“It's gonna be a whole year, Roadie!” complained Junkrat.

“Nine months,” corrected Roadhog. “Seven now.”

“Why does it take so long?” complained Junkrat.

“You're growing a whole human being inside of you,” said Roadhog. He shrugged. “Takes a while.”

“'S weird,” said Junkrat, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his arms. He sat back up, his zipper sliding down even further as he did so. The sight of it was almost enough to make him cry again. Almost. He kept his cool. He'd always hated crying, but it came so easily now. His snappish moods, too. Just trying to keep from biting everyone's head off (and then getting kicked to the curb or worse) was double the pain in the ass it had been before. He wondered if it would keep doubling until this thing got out of him.

“Definitely,” said Roadhog. He stood up, walked over to the dresser, and threw a pair of pants at Junkrat. These ones were baggy – big enough to accommodate both the baby bump and his left leg. He also threw a hooded sweatshirt at Junkrat, and a t-shirt – the Pachimari one Roadhog had gotten him for Christmas. Junkrat had recoiled from the cutesy logo when he'd first opened the box, but now he had to smile a little. It felt a bit more familiar than the rest of the clothes in the dresser they shared.

“C'mon,” said Roadhog, zipping up a hooded sweatshirt over his own shirt and tying on a bandana to hide his face. “We're getting you new clothes.”

Junkrat groaned at the prospect, but followed along. The two of them tried to keep pretty covert whenever they had to go out on their own – to run to the drugstore or pick up food for when Roadhog wanted to wanted to cook for them. Overwatch frowned upon robbery, and they didn't exactly have the right equipment, but sometimes Junkrat did some petty shoplifting, pilfering something small for Roadie or Hana or Lucio. A keychain, or a plush doll or something like that. But they mostly lay low, Junkrat trying to even out his stride, Roadhog covering his face without his mask, and both pulling their hoods up to hide their hair. Junkrat tried not to grin or laugh too much for fear of giving himself away. He’d heard that his laugh was pretty distinctive.

Since Junkrat was on his best behavior (which was easier to do when he was depressed and dead tired), the trip went pretty smoothly. Junkrat actually came home with a few things that were pretty exciting – he'd actually picked out a long, woolen skirt in a dark plaid with an elastic waistband, which he had immediately ripped a slit in to allow for freedom of movement. Trend-setter right there. All the Overwatch guys were gonna be wearing skirts soon. Once he got back, he immediately traded out the pants for his new skirt, the Pachimari t-shirt and hoodie for a still-too-big black jacket and stretchy black tank top. Hana and Lucio were gonna be so impressed with his new togs. Still, he looked wistfully on his old shorts. Roadhog leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

“It's gonna be okay, Rat,” he said. “Only seven more months.”

“Ten,” corrected Junkrat, using his best math.

“Definitely seven,” said Roadhog.

\---

Besides the whole clothing issue, Junkrat was having some other, equally pressing concerns. Six weeks after the doctor had told him to stop playing with bombs, Junkrat was starting to go crazy. Crazier than standard-level Junkrat crazy. Probably crazier than even pregnant Junkrat would be, if he had still had his bombs. He got tired of making endless plans for more and more bombs without being able to see them through to the finished product. He'd resorted to drawing up… other blueprints.

For the last few weeks, he'd been taking daily walks. At another checkup with Angela (one that had gone much better than the last one), she had recommended light exercise to help with aches and pains. She'd also done some weird magic trick that involved a scanner thing, cold goo, and a screen that showed him a blurry picture of what was supposed to be his baby. Then she showed him an actual 3D picture of what a kid. Junkrat thought it looked more like a lizard than a baby, an opinion which he had expressed loudly in the lab. Roadhog had laughed. The doctor had not.

Taking walks did make some of the aching go away, but that wasn't the real reason he had chosen it. For one thing, some of the other suggestions included swimming, which he didn't fancy, as he couldn't wear his arm or leg if he was swimming, and something that had to do with yogurt, which Junkrat didn't understand at all. The big thing about his walks, though, was that they gave him the time to mentally map pretty much every inch of Watchpoint Gibraltar. Well, all the parts he had access to, anyway. Which wasn't everything. He figured that was reasonable. Anyway, he only needed the areas where people were most of the time. His first task when he got back to his room was to work on his sketched floorplan of the Watchpoint, marking places that were especially vulnerable to attacks. Light attacks, nothing like he'd do on a heist. But the good doctor hadn't banned him from something as juvenile as a stink bomb lobbed into a vent he'd popped open.

Junkrat knew he was the prime suspect for these attacks, but he'd found enough hidey-holes to duck away and disable the cameras that were watching. All spies for “Athena,” that faceless omnic-thing that ran the damn place. He knew where they all were, too. Grinned up at them during his mind-mapping walks. Everyone knew that it was him, but, lacking proof, they didn't couldn't pin any consequences on him. It didn't stop the glares when the dining hall filled up with dung-stench. Especially from the little ice lady. Brrr! Recently she'd upped him from “bully” to “schoolyard bully,” to which Junkrat replied that he couldn't've been, never went to school. She did not find it nearly as funny as he did, but her confusion gave him enough time to escape before she could say anything else.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone caught him in the act. His mistake was getting cocky. And always going for the bathrooms, which everyone had to use at some point during the day. He couldn't help it – there was something funny about watching someone skulk out looking like a soaked cat, and about as pleased as one, to boot. It was just that this time he hadn't checked the area thoroughly enough, had spent too much time fiddling with the faucet to get it just right so it'd explode into a geyser on contact without backfiring on him while he was working on it. When he heard the door open, the only thing he could do was turn his head and stare directly at the man who would become his captor.

Jesse. Fuckin'. McCree.

There were a lot of names Junkrat couldn't remember here. Pretty much everyone besides Lucio, Hana, and (finally) Angela went by nicknames in his head. But Jesse McCree? That one stuck with him. He was, after all, an internationally known bounty hunter, and Junkrat was internationally known for being bounty hunted. The name had gotten planted in his head even before he'd ever started at Overwatch. To tell the truth, Junkrat had kind of developed a bit of a crush on the man in his years on the run. Hard not to. He had that ruggedly handsome, roguish sort of thing going on. Plus, there was a certain allure about an attractive person who could be your total undoing. Both the crush and the possibility of rivalry had encouraged Junkrat to keep a safe distance from the (ruggedly handsome) bounty hunter. But here he was, caught by his own foolishness, a wrench wrapped around the ball valve of a the faucet in the mens' bathroom.

The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes into a glare as Junkrat let out a shrill “eep!” sort of noise and pushed past him out of the bathroom. As he sprinted, Junkrat could hear the angry fall of footsteps right behind him, racing to catch up. Fortunately, Junkrat was fast; you couldn't get by in the Outback being as scrawny as he was without a couple of tricks up your (metaphorical) sleeves. His bombs, of course, were the first and biggest trick, but running fast was up there, too. Unfortunately, Junkrat was also pregnant, and getting to the bathroom in the first place had been a part of his daily walk. His body couldn't sprint like it normally could, and before long, he was bent over with his hands on his knees, panting for breath.

“Knew you couldn't run forever,” drawled McCree. That voice, too. Junkrat was happily spoken for, but that voice did something to his chest. “Got anything to say for yourself?” No, not really. Junkrat was a little shit and everyone knew it. He probably wouldn't get in any major trouble for the stink bombs and leaky pipes, but the repeated property damage to the security cameras might be a different story. Still, he surprised himself by turning around, fat crocodile tears dripping from his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes and sniffing. “I'm just… I'm goin' crazy in here, mate. Got nowhere to go, can't make me bombs, just hafta sit around being pregnant.” All of which was true, but it sounded a lot more sympathetic when it was coming from someone who was both pregnant and crying. “All I've got left are me sad little pranks. I'm–” and here was the crescendo; he really started welling up now “–I'm pathetic.” He thrust his wrists out like he expected to be cuffed. “Do what you're gonna do.”

McCree looked… completely baffled. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide, his brows screwed up like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem. Inside, where it didn't show, Junkrat had exploded into mad laughter. He'd never thought that crying at the drop of the hat would have perks like this. He hunkered down further and let out a sob. Hesitantly, the bounty hunter reached out a hand, patting the internationally renowned demolitionist thief on the back.

“Now, there,” he said awkwardly. “How 'bout you promise not to do it again and we just… let this go for now? I'll get Torbjorn to deal with the sink. No harm, no foul, alright?” Junkrat could hardly believe himself. A hardened bounty hunter like Jesse McCree, completely thwarted by a crying pregnant person? He looked up at the man with teary amber eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking in a perfectly calculated waver. He sniffed again. “Can't believe I'm crying in front of you like this. Me hormones are all over the place, it's like I can't go two seconds without…” Seemingly of nowhere, Lena blinked into view.

“He's playing you!” she shouted, not even looking at the two as she zipped down the hall, a trail of blue light chasing after her. Goddammit, Lena! She'd never liked him. Well, no point in playing the hormonal sad-sack anymore, he guessed At the sight of McCree's rapidly transforming face – sympathetic eyes hardening, relaxed lips tensing and turning downwards – the last of Junkrat's tears dried up and he gave a cackle. The downtime he'd spent on the conversation had given him just enough energy to start the sprint back to his room.

“Ta again!” he called, looking back at McCree as he made his break. “And see ya 'round, handsome!” The last glimpse Junkrat got of McCree's face was absolutely priceless.

Of course, Junkrat had to scale back operations after that. Scale back, but not stop entirely. Sure, he was getting a little worse at running with the baby weight and all, but he couldn't give up what was now his only hobby. The biggest difference was that now he adamantly avoided both Pink Lady and McCree. Easy enough, in most situations, but the dining hall was trickier than the rest of the building. There was no telling who was going to be there. Sure, Junkrat had learned to keep an ear out for the others' mission schedules, but knowing when they were going to get the urge to eat was far from an exact science. Junkrat did his best with the information he had and managed to successfully steer clear of the cowboy for a couple of twitchy, anxiety-filled (and maybe a little butterflies-filled) weeks before his checkered past of mediocre pranks came back to haunt him. He turned away from the buffet line, quarter-full tray in hand, and came face to face with brown skin and that beard. Looking that good with a beard had to be illegal. And Junkrat knew illegal.

“Hey, mate,” he said, trying to play it cool even though he was sweating bullets. He backed up a step. “How's it hangin'?”

“Well, I'm doin' a damn sight better now that I tracked you down,” drawled McCree. A shiver went down Junkrat's spine, though whether it was fear or attraction was anyone's guess. The hormones didn't help with either of those emotions.

“Oh, stop,” said Junkrat, waving a hand in mock embarrassment. “If you wanted to come see me, you could've just asked for me room number last we ran into each other.” For a second, McCree seemed caught off guard by Junkrat's shitty attempt at flirting, but he quickly regained his composure and smirked at the Junker.

“With your other half around?” he asked. “Well, I wouldn't dare. Where is the big fella?” Junkrat sweated harder – he genuinely didn't know. He'd gotten up to get something to eat and somehow managed to lose the giant. Tears started welling in his eyes, this time for real. Cooped up in this tiny place and he couldn't even count on his own bodyguard to stick with him? Where had Roadie gone, anyway? What'd been so important that he ditched Junkrat? Junkrat's heart sank; could've been just about anything, in his book. Anything would be more important than he was.

“Now, now,” said McCree, smirk firmly in place. “I ain't fallin' for that one again.”

“They're real this time, ya bloody bastard,” Junkrat snarled, taking one hand off the tray to wipe his eyes and nose.

“Now, come on,” said McCree, though his smirk did falter for a second. “You know what they say – fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on…” He didn't finish that thought, his words stopping with the sound of thundering footfall behind him. McCree was quickly eclipsed by a large, Roadhog-shaped shadow.

“Well, I don't think we've been formally introduced,” said McCree. He smiled, but there was just a touch of a quiver in his voice. Junkrat stood up straighter, smiled right back. That quiver was what he lived for. McCree stuck his hand out. “Jesse McCree, professional bounty hunter. I reckon I've seen your face just about a hundred times over.”

“We got a problem here?” he asked, not taking McCree's hand. The smile dropped off McCree's face.

“I reckon we do,” he said. “See, your little partner in crime's been causin' a bit of–” Roadhog didn't wait for him to finish.

“You the reason he's crying?” he asked. McCree laughed nervously.

“Please,” he said. “Anyone with half a stump's brain could see that he's–”

“Did. You. Make. Him. Cry?” asked Roadhog. When McCree didn't answer, he looked down at Junkrat, who nodded in confirmation. Though he was feeling considerably less teary knowing that his partner hadn't abandoned him and could beat the everloving shit out of this (incredibly good-looking) wanker. McCree opened his mouth again, but Roadhog stopped him.

“You leave my partner alone,” he growled. “And we won't have a problem. You wanna have a problem?”

“Sure don't,” answered McCree.

“Good,” replied Roadhog. He took Junkrat's free hand in one of his much larger ones and walked away, leading Junkrat along with him. Junkrat sniffed, wishing that he had an extra arm to wipe his face on.

“L-look at that wanker,” he said, tripping over his words as he sucked in those almost-crying breaths. “You could've ripped him apart and he knows it. Bloody knob never could've come after us in Oz.”

“Guess he's not your boyfriend anymore, then,” he said. Junkrat went red at the tips of his ears.

“Never was!” he said. “Not sayin' he's not sexy, though.” A grunt from Roadhog. Was that jealousy Junkrat detected in that very verbal non-verbal? “Not as sexy as you, course. Never sexy as you.” To make his point, Junkrat turned his head and stuck his tongue out at the cowboy, who seemed to be trying to abandon the buffet as if nothing had ever happened, and who frowned deeply at the gesture. Then, just to top it off, Junkrat pulled himself up and kissed Roadhog's mask, right where his cheek would be.

“Could go right now,” he purred, as best as a hyena like him could purr. “If you don't mind getting' outta this place.”

“You're eating lunch,” said Roadhog flatly. Junkrat immediately deflated, bottom lip jutting out.

“Well, then,” he said. “Forgive a bloke for tryin' to be a little romantic every once in a–” He was cut off by a scoff coming from the table next to him and Roadhog. Junkrat turned his head to pin an accusatory glare at the culprit, and boiled when he saw that it was Queen Frostine herself. Mel, was it? Probably not. She was sitting with Pink Lady (who Junkrat had somehow not noticed until that moment, damn pregnancy brain) and free of her usual parka, instead wearing a black tank top like it was some kind of tropical paradise up here, rather than the tundra it really was. Well, to Junkrat, anyway.

“Please,” she said. “I can't believe you're getting away with it again. You're still just a playground bully, whether or not you get what you deserve. You should be ashamed of yourself. What kind of father are you going to be, always stirring up trouble and never facing the consequences of your actions?”

Junkrat felt the arms close around his chest as he started to lunge himself at her with everything he had in him. The tray went flying to the floor, splattering his newly-acquired jeans with barbecue sauce and potatoes. The ice princess's brown eyes had widened, her mouth hanging open slightly as Pink Lady moved in front of her, prepared to defend. Tears ran hot down Junkrat's cheeks. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he must be a pretty sorry sight – a still-skinny pregnant rat in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans with one leg cut off and one with stains slowly seeping in, kicking his legs and wheeling his arms in an attempt to break past someone much larger than he was. He didn't care, though. Right now, he could only continue to hiss and spit with rage, her words careening around his brain and dinging every tender spot he could imagine. What kind of father would he be? What kind of father would he be???? Junkrat's throat was sore, but he was only vaguely aware of his own screaming, unsure of the words he was spitting out at the dazed snow queen. Something to the effect of how dare she ask that question at all, how dare she say he was going to be a bad father, how dare she get all high and mighty, how dare she how dare she how dare she?????

Before this scene went on long enough to become dangerous for Junkrat's health and safety, Roadhog had thrown him over his shoulder and quickly started heading out of the dining hall. Junkrat pounded on his back, shouting at him to let go, to let him finish this, to let him do something because he wasn't going to be here for a whole goddamned year without being able to defend himself. Junkrat thought that he heard Roadhog mumble something about months under his breath, but he couldn't make it out through his own personal cacophony. Roadhog brought him to their room and plopped him on the bed where he so often seemed to be plopping him recently. Junkrat was livid. What right did Roadhog have to carry him away from his fight and then drop him onto the bed like a worked-up child?

“Didya hear what she said to me?” he screeched. “'What kind of a father am I going to be?' What the hell does she know about what kind of father I'm gonna be? What makes her think that she'd be so much better?” He launched himself up and made scrabbled towards the door, but Roadhog grabbed him and pinned him back down. “Let me GO, you pig bastard, I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'er, 'n I'm gonna kill that cowboy fuck while I'm at it why're you holdin' me back I'm your boss for fuck's sake!”

“It's my job,” replied Roadhog, easing up a bit as Junkrat began to tire and his thrashing became weaker.

“I'm your boss,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and aching. “I'll tell you what your job is.” But he couldn't find it in him to put much authority into the statement. He was tired, his back and shoulders and chest aching, the tears still streaming down his cheeks in burning rivers.

“Not a bodyguard job,” said Roadhog. “A partner job.” Junkrat let out a choked sob.

“'What kind of a father am I gonna be?'” he repeated back. Then, again, “What kind of father am I gonna be, Roadie?”

“A great one,” said Roadhog. Junkrat shook his head, feeling his hair tangle on the pillowcase. It'd been getting thicker again recently. His nails were thicker, too. Doc said it'd all go back to normal after the baby came out. Nothing else would, though.

“Don't bullshit me!” he said. “I'm gonna be a horrible father! Everyone knows I'm off me fuckin' rocker! Touched in the bloody head! Don't know how to feed a kid don't know how to take care of it don't know how not to fuck it up in the head! I've killed people, Roadie, sometimes not people I meant to kill, I'm not supposed to stay in one place for so long, not safe, not safe, I'll run off I'll abandon you, I'll go crazy, what if I make the kid crazy? What if they end up like me?”

“Then we'll love them,” said Roadhog. “And we'll help. Like I help you. Like I love you.” Junkrat only sobbed harder, shaking his head so hard it hurt. “Jamie, you did what you had to, back in Oz. Did what you had to all your life. Nothing you can do to take it back. Doesn't have anything to do with you being a father now. It's new here, but it's safe. And if you run, I'll run with you.”

“And take the kid?” said Junkrat. His face was covered with snot and tears by now. Disgusting. He'd always been disgusting. Always would be.

“We'll worry about that if we get there,” said Roadhog. He hesitated. “Jamie, do you still want to keep it?”

“'Course I do,” said Junkrat tiredly. Every time Roadhog asked that question, it made something in him feel more calm. More sure than he had ever felt about anything in his life, maybe. Felt calmer, too. He lay down. “I just dunno how I'm gonna keep a kid without ruinin' their life. Dunno how to take care of a kid. Never done it before.” Roadhog lay down beside him, clasping his hand.

“I have,” he said quietly. Junkrat's breath caught, his heart skipped a beat, but something about the moment told him not to ask any further questions.

“You can be the good dad, then,” he said instead. “Everyone should have one of those. I didn't. Well, not that I can remember.” Roadhog brought Junkrat's hand to the snout of his mask and made a kissing sound. Junkrat giggled. “What a sap! Oi, everyone, Roadie's a big softie! Come poke his belly, right on the cute tattoo!” Roadhog slapped a hand over Junkrat's mouth to silence him, but Junkrat could feel him shaking with laughter. The pressure inside Junkrat's chest eased.

“Hey Roadie,” he said once his mouth was free again. Roadhog grunted out a “yeah?” “'m I actin' crazier than usual?”

“Yeah,” said Roadhog.

“Figures,” said Junkrat. “Bloody hormones. Maybe I should make this baby crazy, since it did it to me, first! Ha! Not that I need any help with that one!” Roadhog chuckled lowly. “What're you laughin' about? You're the one who's gonna have to deal with this for a whole year.”

“More like six months,” said Roadhog. Junkrat sat up and looked over at him.

“It's been six months already?” he asked.

“No,” said Roadhog. Before Junkrat could ask, there was a knock on the door, which Rodhog got up to answer. Through the sliver of the open door, Junkrat could see Lucio and Hana, standing outside and whispering to Roadhog. Roadhog nodded at something they said and walked back over to his partner.

“Your friends are here to see you,” he said. “Thought you might wanna play video games with them.”

“They heard,” said Junkrat. Roadhog simply nodded.

“Don't have to go,” he said. “Not if you don't want to. Could take a nap instead.” Junkrat considered it before shaking his head and wiping his face with a hand.

“Nah, mate, I'm good,” he said, offering a watery smile that quickly wavered and fell. “Come with me?”

“'Course,” said Roadhog. He wrapped his hand around Junkrat and hefted him up, for which Junkrat was pretty grateful. He wasn't that far along, and his larger hoodies could hide his belly pretty well, but his body wasn't used to hauling around the extra weight that came with pregnancy. He would've bet that if he put on the RIP-tire after not being able to carry it for a few months, he'd fall straight to the ground under the combined weight. And then the baby would get smushed. Okay, time to derail that train of thought. He let Roadhog lead him to the doorway where his friends were.

“Junkrat!” said Hana, smiling widely. There was a slight wobbliness to that smile, though, that gave away her worry. Terrible liar. “You wanna hang out in our room and play some video games? I just got a new FPS you might like!” Junkrat must've looked confused, because Hana explained, “First person shooter. You get to play as the person who's shooting, and you see it through their eyes, so it's almost like you're there!”

Junkrat still didn't quite get it (the only video games he'd played were old fighting games on half-busted arcade machines in Junkertown bars), but he liked the sound of “almost like you're there.” Hana only sweetened the deal by adding, “There are even RPGs!” Now those were letters Junkrat understood! He perked up immediately, only to deflate when he remembered that she was hyping him up because she and Lucio'd heard his little meltdown. Big meltdown. Whatever.

“So, you guys heard, huh?” he said. Hana looked like she might protest, but Lucio cut her off.

“Yeah,” he said apologetically. “You okay, buddy?”

“Been better,” answered Junkrat. “You two don't have to hang around me because you feel sorry for me, though.”

“That's not why we're doing it!” Hana said. “We're your friends, Rat! And we never just hang out and play video games or anything, which is, like, a tragedy! We want you to feel better, but it's not like we pity you or anything!” She hesitated before saying, “I've been there, too. Probably not as much, but I was a mess when I first started the 'mones.” It took Junkrat a second to figure out what she meant by that.

“Friends don't let friends cry in their rooms,” said Lucio. “Unless the friends really want to. Which is cool, too. If you wanna stay in instead, we got you.” Junkrat could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again. He opened his arms wide and pulled his two (very small) friends into a tight hug, biting his lip to keep from letting out a flood again.

“You alright there, man?” asked Lucio.

“Yeah, we didn't mean to make you cry or anything,” said Hana.

“It's fine,” he said, sniffling. It was harder not to cry when he was talking. And when people were being nice to him. “Not bad crying. It's the bloody hormones.” He realized them. “Thanks, though. Let's finish up with this sappy bullshit and play some FGS's.” Hana giggled.

“FPS's,” she corrected. Junkrat waved a hand.

“Whatever,” he said. The group laughed, including a lower one from Roadhog, who had patiently stood behind them the entire time.

Hana and Lucio's room was pretty sweet, Junkrat had to admit. Junkrat and Roadhog hadn't done much to theirs except find places to store all their weaponry, and Junkrat had tacked some drawings (some official blueprints, some just doodles of him and Roadhog and even a couple of Hana and Lucio) to their walls.

Hana and Lucio had painted their walls black with neon green and pink stripes, and set up some shiny black machines that were wired to their their televisions. Junkrat immediately and desperately wanted to pry them open and pick them apart, but he had a feeling that this wouldn't be well received by his friends. Stacks of thin, colorful cases were piled in the corner, some so tall that they were beginning to fall over. Their twin beds (he and Roadie had an extra long and an extra wide, respectively, which they had pushed together the first night they were there) bore pink and green comforters, both decorated with different animals and patterns. Both beds were littered with piles of stuffed animals – frogs, bunnies, some weird monster-looking things, a squarish and very huggable-looking teddy bear, and even a small collection of Pachimari plushies, which Roadhog whipped his head towards immediately.

Hana got right to business, showing Junkrat how to turn on the machines, put in games (which were contained in the brightly-colored boxes), and push the buttons to make different things happen on the screen. Junkrat almost immediately located the RPG and cackled wildly as he launched grenades at the oncoming police forces. Then, much to Junkrat's delight, Hana showed him how they could play two player, wreaking mayhem across various cities as a team. Junkrat bounced where he was sitting and asked Roadie to play with him. He and Roadhog went a round, but no matter how carefully and delicately he tried to be, Roadhog always ended up pressing two or more buttons by mistake, and quickly retired to a pile of stuffed animals he had gathered in between the beds.

Hana and Lucio switched off playing with Junkrat, laughing and chatting all the while, until he got too tired to keep playing. He scooched himself back to Roadie's plush pile and lay down in his arms, falling asleep to the sounds of televised explosions and his friends' laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter featuring a cameo from hugbear, who lives in my apartment and is extraordinarily good for hugging. and I hope that mei doesn't seem too mean! she's not; she just has a strong sense of justice and a low tolerance for people who come into conflict with that. just wait for the next chapter! I really like it, guys. 
> 
> also, have my section breaks not been showing up in my previous chapters? I put them in on libreoffice but none of them showed up on google docs and I'm wondering if I just never noticed. oops.


	8. Chapter Seven: That's What Friends Are For (Even Tiny Ones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat has a talk with Mei and makes some new friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry for not getting a chapter up last week, like I usually do. I've been saddled with more hours at work so I've been really tired. plus I ran out of one of my meds for a while, which never helps. basically I've been falling into a zone of trashbrain recently and haven't been using this fic to cope like I usually do. which I should've, honestly, it would've been better for me. anyway, I like this chapter, though. it's light on angst and has rats in it! like actual little rodents!!! 
> 
> **tws for mentions of disordered eating and vomit aaaaaand I think that's it but lmk if I missed something**

If Junkrat had thought he was losing it before, now, in what the doctor called his “second tricycle” (or something like that), it was absolutely gone. Whatever “it” was. Junkrat didn't know. But he  _ did  _ know that he didn't have it. All out of it.

For one thing, his pregnancy hormones hadn't let up even a little bit, so he was still rapidfire switching between sobbing and hysterical laughter and biting everyone's heads off. Which wasn't actually that unusual for him, except that now it was cranked up to eleven and he needed Roadhog pretty much everywhere he went to keep him from throwing messy tantrums in unfortunate places. And then there was what Angela jokingly referred to as “pregnancy brain” – basically, his flour-sifter of a brain now had even bigger holes in it so that even bigger and more immediate information could fall right through. Lucio could tell him that he had to leave for a mission and then a half-hour later when he was gone Junkrat would go have a fit over the skater “abandoning” him. Most of the time, he was lucky enough to have one of his (two) other friends to remind him of what had happened, but that wasn't always the case.

The times he had to be alone were nearly unbearable. Always had been, even during that long stretch between the treasure and Roadie where he had to keep his own company. Maybe especially during then. He'd known better than to seek out “friends” (what good had people done him before the treasure, after all?), but the loneliness never got easier. It was why he'd glued himself to Roadhog as soon as he was sure the big guy wasn't gonna off him first chance he got. And then he'd been too soft, crying and laughing like he wasn't living in a hellscape where he could be torn apart at any second because with Roadhog, he wasn't.

Hana and Lucio, they were a bit like that, too. Overwatch was cold, and it didn't make any sense yet, and the organization didn't want him even half as much as they pretended to. But Hana and Lucio filled in the empty space around him with music and words and sometimes really cool candies. Without them, without any of them, it was just Junkrat again. Junkrat had never liked Junkrat all that much. Not the version with the high voice, not the one that was on the juice or the one with the flat chest, not even the one with the baby in his belly. The baby that made him crazier but kept him from killing himself. He hated the little thing, this half-baked kid, sometimes. Almost as much as he loved it, and that “almost” was enough to keep him from punching his own ticket.

Didn't mean he had to like being alive, though. Alone, he had nothing. Nothing but the baby, but all he could do with it was curve his hands over his belly, trace the blue veins, feel for kicking. Weird feeling, that was. Not like pain, but more like a muscle twitch. Like this kid was gonna turn out as flighty as he was. Now that'd be something. He barked out a laugh every time he thought about it, Hog dealing with two jittery little bastards dashing madly through the hallways of Gibraltar, raising hell and hopefully blowing shit up in the process. Together, maybe. That'd be some nice father-child bonding time.

Today, not even the thought of wreaking havoc with his unborn child was enough to keep Junkrat out of the deep hell pits of his mind. Today Roadie and Lucio and Hana were all out on a mission. The same one, which almost made it worse. Why did they get to have fun running around out there piloting mechs and blasting tunes and hooking sorry bastards and he didn't? Of course, Junkrat knew why. The bloody baby was why. But he'd barely gotten any time out on the field before Angela diagnosed him with a nasty case of pregnancy and had him taken off the roster! Damn doctors; without them, Junkrat could've been launching bombs (and  _ making  _ them, because he missed that almost as much) for at least a few solid months before he'd started to show and everyone got suspicious about the weight gain.

His brain had started to go back to that place where it was when Angela had told him he couldn't touch explosives for a whole year. If he didn't have his bombs, couldn't make his bombs, couldn't even make a goddamn trap because now that he was pregnant everyone who cared treated him like he was made of paper, then what good was he? He wasn't smart at anything but bombs, he was ugly as sin, he was all over the place all the time, he screamed, he cried, he exploded over things anyone with a half-functioning brain could handle – he did just about everything but make himself useful. Roadhog and his friends were probably grateful to have time to be together away from him. Maybe they'd even talked about it on the way there. About how annoying and useless he was.

The thought sent Junkrat's fingers twitching, seeking out any unprotected patches of skin or hair to scratch at. Just as they reached a stretch of clean skin on his arm (scale-free, thanks to the doctor's magic), Junkrat caught himself. He shook his hands off like he was trying to exorcise some kind of dark spirit that made him do stupid things. Time to do those calm breaths Roadhog had practiced with him. Breathe in, two, three, hold, two, three, out, two, three. And again. And again and again and again until Junkrat was almost afraid of breaking the pattern. His throat made a frustrated sound that didn't make it all the way out of his mouth. Why was it that he couldn't even do any of the things that were supposed to make him feel better?

“ Hate this,” he hissed under his breath. “Hate this hate this hate this  _ hate this _ .” It didn't make him feel much better, but the words crowded out the rest of his thoughts. He glared down at his belly, rounded and large under a new sweatshirt.

“ This is because of you,” he said. The baby kicked, like maybe it was arguing back. All of a sudden, Junkrat felt the tears welling in his eyes. Not this again. “No, you're right. It's not. It's not your fault your dad's a sad, sorry bastard who can't make his brain work right.” He curled over himself, arms circling his belly. “Sorry I'm yer dad, little lizard thing.”

At the sound of a knock on his door, Junkrat sucked in a breath. He didn't think it was possible that he'd pissed someone off today – he hadn't left his room at all, not even for food. Food was still hard when he was by himself, even though he was starving all the time and he knew the baby needed it. Sometimes, left to his own devices, he would skip out on meals until someone else was around to go with him. So he hadn't done anything like pour hot sauce in the pudding or rig the sprinklers today. Or in a while, even. He was trying to be “good” until he could handle being told off without crying, because how embarrassing was that? Still, he guessed that it could be someone he'd pissed off on another day, pouncing on the opportunity to catch Junkrat without his partner. He opened the door just a crack and poked his head out.

“ What are  _ you  _ doing here?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. Because outside his door stood a short, chubby woman with glasses and a sweet, round face. And it  _ was  _ sweet this time, sweeter than Junkrat had ever seen it before when it was pointed at him, much less icy, but he didn't trust the Ice Princess as far as he could throw her.

“ I wanted…” she bit her lower lip, shuffling her feet awkwardly. “I wanted to say that… I'm sorry.”

“ What's that now?” asked Junkrat. He cracked the door open a little wider, but still refused to open it all the way. “This some kinda sting operation?” His eyes darted back and forth over her head but saw no one behind her, and nowhere for anyone to hide. Especially not Pink Lady, who was with the Ice Princess more than anyone else.

“ What?” asked Ice Princess. “No. Look, what I said before was out of line. Questioning your parenting skills was too far. It was hurtful. I may not like you very much, but I don't also don't like hurting people who don't deserve it. I am very sorry.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “can I come in for a moment?” Junkrat eyed her skeptically, at which she sighed in response. “I promise there is a good reason to open the door.”

“ A good reason?” said Junkrat. Now  _ that  _ had caught his attention. He pushed the door open all the way and looked down at the Ice Princess. When he saw what was dangling from her right hand, he gasped.

“ They're lab rats,” said the Princess, lifting the carrying cage into both her arms so Junkrat could see it better. Sure enough, two small, white rats with bright red eyes scampered over the folded-up towel that lined the bottom, sometimes clambering over each other in the process. One of them even stopped to stick her twitchy little nose through the cage bars. “I was at another lab on Friday. They had finished an experiment and were going to get rid of them, so I took them.” Junkrat reached out and let the Ice Princess place the carrier into his arms, eyes wide and mouth rounded.

“ Get rid of them?” he asked. The Princess nodded.

“ An unfortunate reality of modern science,” she said apologetically. “We also have virtual models to work on, but nothing is as good as the real th–”

“ They was gonna kill 'em?” asked Junkrat, cutting her off. The Ice Princess frowned, irritated, for a second, but then softened as she nodded. Junkrat could feel the anger start to build in him, rising straight to his brain like steam, but then a nip on one of the fingers on his left hand brought his attention back to the carrier in his hands. One of the rats had done a little test-nibble on his fingers, decided it wasn't food, and gone back to running around. The other rat had wrapped one of her tiny paws around a bar and was sniffing the air above her. Junkrat's eyes started to feel wet.

“ Um, Junkrat?” asked the Ice Princess. His name sounded awkward coming from her lips. He wasn't sure she'd ever used it before. It was always just  _ “you.”  _ “Are you okay?” Junkrat sniffed long and loud, blinking to keep from crying over something so dumb.

“ Yeah, yeah, I'm foine,” he said. “'S just sad, is all.”

“ I didn't think you would have so much value for animal life,” she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Junkrat had just enough time to start forming a glare before a wave of nausea hit him. He shoved the cage back into the Ice Princess's hands and sprinted for the bathroom attached to his room, a sheen of sweat forming on his skin. He doubled over the toilet bowl and hurled his guts up. Right now, his guts consisted of the one chocolate-flavored nutritional shake he'd slammed down as his dinner.

“ Junkrat?” called the Princess. “Are you alright in there?”

“ Yeah, sheila!” he hollered back, even though he could tell that his body was about to heave again. And it did, bringing up absolutely nothing now. “Just morning sickness! Lousy fuckin' name if you ask me; I deal with this shit all day!”

“ Alright,” replied the Princess. Silence as Junkrat brought his head to rest against the seat, tired out from his little puking episode. “I have, ah, some other equipment to set up for the girls. I'm going to leave them on your bed and come back in a minute, okay?”

“ Sure thing,” answered Junkrat. He heard her leave the room right before he flushed the toilet and washed his hands. True to her word, the Ice Princess came back within minutes, dragging a large wheeled cage behind her with one hand and holding a huge box of supplies in her other arm. It looked like it must be heavy, but there wasn't even a drop of sweat on her, in stark contrast to Junkrat's still-soaked body. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve.

“ Anythin' I can do?” he asked.

“ No, no, it's fine,” she said, pulling the cage to the side of the room and letting the box fall onto the carpet with a loud  _ thud _ . She bent down and sifted through its contents, pulling out plastic balls and wood-and-rope toys and even empty tissues boxes and carefully arranging all of them on the fleece-lined cage trays. When she was done, she stood with her hands on her jean-clad hips, a triumphant smile decorating her face. “There! All set for the girls.” She lifted the carrier for the bed and released the rats into their cage, which was only a little shorter than she was, closing the doors securely when she was done. Both rats immediately ran to one of the bigger tissues boxes and huddled inside it.

“ Everyone's happy!” she said, before rounding back on Junkrat. “I also brought food and treats for them. The food is a standard lab block, but you should also give them bits of human food – vegetables, fruits, meat. But nothing that would be unhealthy for you. Here: I made a list of dangerous foods,” she thrust a piece of paper into Junkrat's hands. “You should clean the cage at least once a week, and probably spot clean in between, and change their water daily. Let them out for at least half an hour every day. They're lab rats, so they haven't been socialized much, so they might be scared of you at first. You have to be gentle with them, okay?” Junkrat didn't say anything, overwhelmed with all the information she had just given him. The Ice Princess's eyes widened.

“ Oh my God,” she said. “I never asked you if you wanted them!”

“ I want them!” said Junkrat. He walked toward the cage, stooping down further to look at the rats on the top shelf. One of them poked her head out of the box, saw Junkrat, and then made a hasty retreat. “They're magnificent.” He looked over at the Ice Princess. “I just… that was a lot, little sheila. You have that all written down, too?” Not for him, obviously, but Roadhog could read it to him, and he wasn't going to admit that he couldn't read in front of someone who thought he was a crass idiot.

“ Do you have paper and a pen?” asked the Princess sheepishly. Ten minutes later, Junkrat had his own abbreviated guide on rat care, all of it written in sparkly blue gel pen on pink piggy paper. It wouldn't have taken so long, but the Princess kept stealing it back to add more notes in small, neat handwriting.

“ There,” she said when she was satisfied at last. “That should be complete. If you have more questions, I'm in Wing B, Room 14. But I would be careful if I were you – Zarya shares that room with me.” The Pink Lady. Now that was a veiled threat if Junkrat had ever heard one. Fair enough, he supposed. He and the Princess hadn't gotten along in the past, and he held Roadhog over everyone's heads like a big, strong, beautiful sack of bricks that  _ just might fall _ if he said the word.

“ Alroight, message received loud and clear,” he said, grinning broadly. He stuck out a hand for her to shake. “Been nice doin' business with you, uh… what was your name again?” For a second, the Princess looked absolutely flabbergasted that he didn't know – Junkrat was used to this. Folks didn't tend to think they needed to reintroduce themselves time and time again once they'd already met. This kind of thing had gotten Junkrat in trouble back when he was in the habit of getting kidnapped and tortured and the like. Hostile captors generally did not take too kindly to their captives asking for their names over and over (and over and over and over).

“ Mei,” said the Ice Princess, taking his hand and shaking it. “Mei-Ling Zhou.”

“ Nice to meetcha, Mei,” said Junkrat. “Well, nice to meetcha again, I guess. I'll take real good care of the girls. Promise. I'll be the best rat dad you've ever laid eyes on!” Mei looked up into Junkrat's eyes, meeting orange with brown, and, surprisingly enough, smiled.

“ I trust you,” she said. And with that, she took her leave.

By the time Roadhog made it back home from the mission, Junkrat was lying on the floor, the two rats scurrying across the carpet, stopping to chew at the corners and wrestle with each other and sometimes to sit on Junkrat's watermelon of a belly.

“ Roadie!' he shouted from his position on the floor. “Roadie, look! Made some new friends!” He picked up one of them, the one who wasn't quite as twitchy, and held her up for Roadhog to see better.

“ Rats,” said Roadhog calmly. He eyed the cage against the wall. “Where did you get rats?”

“ The Snow Queen gave them to me,” he said.

“ Mei?” asked Roadhog. Junkrat nodded, placing the rat back down on her belly. Roadhog snorted, taking off his mask and laying it on the table by the door. “Well. I'll be fucked.”

“ Wouldn't mind that,” said Junkrat, wiggling his eyebrows. Roadhog chose to ignore his comment, instead stooping down to the floor and watching the rats scamper back and forth. “Aren't they great, Roadie? This one's,” he pointed to the faster, twitchier rat who liked to hid behind the shelves, “named Scratch, because she scratched me a bit when I tried to pick her up. This one,” he pointed to the rat closer to him, “is Sniff, because… well, she sniffs a lot. Get it, Roadie? Scratch and Sniff! Like those stickers we found at that store in London!” Orange and lemon and grape, oh my!

“ Rat, are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Roadhog, once again ignoring Junkrat's brilliant turn of phrase. “You're about to have a ba–” Junkrat cut him off, picking up Sniff from where she was examining his metal arm. Very, very carefully – he couldn't feel anything in that one, so it'd taken a while to learn how to keep from squishing or cracking things when he picked them up.

“ Roadie, look at what she does when I pet her!” he said. He placed Sniff on his belly and stroked the soft fur of her head, scritched behind her little rat ears. The rat let out a chattering noise, and her eyes bulged in and out of her head. Roadhog's eyes went large and round.

“ Wow,” he said, dropping the rest of the way to the floor and putting his wide-eyed face right next to the rat. “Are they s'posed to do that?”

“ Dunno,” said Junkrat gently, like he might scare her off. Which he actually might – the Ice Princess had mentioned that they might be twitchy, and even though Sniff was a lot chiller than her sister, she still bolted at sudden noises or movements. Junkrat could relate. “But she looks happy, roight? And they always go back where they should.”

“ Guess it's fine, then,” said Roadhog. He reached out a hand to pet Sniff, then quickly retracted it. Probably a good idea – Roadhog's hands were big enough to fully cover Junkrat's face. Gentle rat petting did not seem to be in his future. The thought made Junkrat sad.

“ Sorry you can't pet them,” he said. “You could probably still pick them up, though.” Junkrat's voice had risen to its normal pitch, so Sniff squeezed out from under his hand and was off like a rocket to join her sister under the dresser.

“ Oh well,” said Junkrat, standing back up. He stretched and yawned. “They've been out about an hour, and the Ice Princess… Mei?” Roadhog nodded. “Mei said at least half an hour. Probably oughta get 'em back in there…” he looked at the bottom of the dresser, where Sniff was sticking her nose out just the tiniest bit. Scratch had disappeared entirely under the piece of furniture. “…somehow.”

The entire ordeal of getting the rats back into their cage lasted about thirty minutes itself. Junkrat and Roadhog would oust them from under the dresser, only for them to run and hide under the bed, or behind the shelves Roadhog had filled up with books of all shapes and sizes (some of them about pregnancy, Junkrat had deduced). Lucky for Junkrat, he had long arms and a partner who was able to effectively blockade any space so that even a rat couldn't squeeze through. Even using the utmost care, though, Junkrat found that the rats still shrieked when he picked them up and put them back in the cage.

“ I'm already a terrible parent,” he told Roadhog miserably once Scratch and Sniff were safe in their rat mansion.

“ We'll figure out a better way,” said Roadhog. “That's what parenting is. Plus, they're rats. Rats are different from babies.”

“ They're  _ my _ babies!” protested Junkrat, pressing his cheek to the cage. “Perfect little babies who never did nothin' wrong.” He stuck a finger in between the bars. Scratch bit the tip of it, and Junkrat withdrew it quickly, laughing wildly as he pressed down on the wound. “Well, except that! Prob'ly deserved that one.”

“ Yeah, maybe don't do that anymore,” agreed Roadhog. Junkrat giggled, his eyes tracking the rats. His rats.

\---

Junkrat thought that the rats were helping keep him – what was that word Roadhog always used? Grounded? Whenever he was alone and started panicking, he could just look over at the cage and watch them run around, stashing food and getting into little wrestling matches and holding things in their tiny, tiny paws. Just going about their own little, tiny lives. Sometimes they ran around on this big, disc-like wheel that Mei (ha! he could remember her name now, lookit that) had brought over a couple days after giving them to Junkrat. The spinning motion practically hypnotized Junkrat into a state of calm. He was excited for his baby and all, but he wasn't sure how it could be as cute or entertaining as the rats. Even if he did have to pick up their poops (wearing a surgical mask and gloves at Roadhog's insistence). Well, Junkrat guessed that he'd have to do that for the baby, too.

While he was starting to get the hang of rat care, his anxiety over childcare only increased as the Big Day drew nearer. Junkrat knew that he still had some time left, but he was getting pretty big. For a long time, he had been able to get by wearing his leg with a compression stocking like the Doc had told him, but now it was too hard to see over his belly, so he had to walk with one leg and a crutch. It was irritating, to say the least, especially when he was on the brink of collapse from exhaustion most of the time, but mostly it scared Junkrat. If he couldn't see over his own belly to put on his leg, then how far could he possibly be from having the thing?

“ What if I'm a terrible father?” he asked Lucio and Hana one day in their room. Neither of the pair seemed to know what to say, which Junkrat guessed was fair. He hadn't exactly given them warning for the crisis, throwing down his controller mid-game to bury his face in his hands.

“ You…” started Lucio. “Don't worry, man. You're gonna do great.”

“ Yeah,” agreed Hana, pausing the game. “Look at how well you're doing with the rats!” Scratch and Sniff were actually in the room with both of them, having traveled over on his shoulders. Mei had been right – they were a bit twitchy at the beginning, especially Scratch, but Junkrat seemed to have a certain way with them. Just a couple weeks after Mei had dropped them off and they were going pretty much everywhere with Junkrat. Well, except the dining hall. The Big Ape had had pretty strong words about keeping them out of the dining hall. Something about health and safety, but Junkrat could tell from the look in his dark eyes that he was just scared of them. Anyway, they could still be a bit twitchy about loud noises and sudden movements, but Junkrat figured that that was just how rats were.

“ Rats aren't babies!” he said, echoing Roadhog a couple weeks before. He reached over and picked up Scratch, cradling her delicately in his hands as she climbed over them and bit at the metal one in bafflement.

“ She's perfect,” he cooed, tickling her belly. Roadhog, who had warmed up to Scratch and Sniff pretty much instantly, had read somewhere that rats laughed when you tickled them, even though humans couldn't hear it. “But look at that little face. Look at that cute little face. Is that a human face?” He tried to hold Scratch up closer to Lucio's eyes, but she squeezed out of his hands and jumped back to the floor. Junkrat cackled. Little escape artists, those rats.

“ Definitely not human,” said Hana, smiling. “But look, Junkrat! You're taking care of something!”

“ Yeah, you and Roadhog are already great parents.” A lump formed in Junkrat's throat at Lucio's comment, and he remembered again what Roadhog had said about having been a parent before. It wasn't like he had forgotten about it or anything. It was just that, like most things, the memory popped in and out of his head like a particularly unpredictable house guest. He hadn't been able to bring it up since then, either. He didn't know how. He would've asked Hana and Lucio how he should go about asking, but the subject was much too personal to let them in on without Roadhog's permission. Hell, until a couple of weeks ago Junkrat didn't even know Roadhog had a kid at all.

“ Yeah, well,” he said, gulping down the lump. “The Ice Princess wrote out a how-to guide on the rats. There's not one of those for kids.” Junkrat thought for a minute. “Well, I guess some of Roadhog's books are kind of like that,” and it really  _ was  _ a guess, but he still hadn't told his friends he couldn't read, “but it's not the same. It's not like I got Mei right there to tell me what to do if the kid's 'bout to stick their finger in a light socket.”

“ Um, Junkrat?” said Hana. “I think that she'd probably just tell you to… not let them do that…”

“ You know what I mean,” scoffed Junkrat. “'S not like I got parents to tell me what  _ they _ did.” No response from Hana or Lucio, just downturned lips and sympathetic eyes. “Lost 'em during the Omnium Explosion when I was five. I don't remember 'em. Don't get too broke up about it. Same happened to a lot of people.”

“ That's still rough, buddy,” said Lucio. He smiled. “But you're gonna make it work for sure.”

“ You're gonna be, like, the funnest dad ever!” said Hana. “You'll get to run around and play with them, you'll carry them on your shoulders like you do with the rats, you'll teach them about bombs…” Lucio shot her a look. “…safely, obviously. And if they ever panic or freak out or need somewhere quiet to go, you'll totally get it!”

“ Huh,” said Junkrat, reaching for Sniff. “Hadn't thought about it that way.”

“ Yeah, man,” said Lucio. “You keep worrying about making this kid crazy, but you're gonna be able to help them so much. Can't think of a better guy for the job.” Junkrat averted his eyes and focused very intently on the soft white fur behind Sniff's ears.

“ Cut it out,” he said quietly. “'M gonna cry.” Lucio clapped a warm hand on his back.

“ Plus, we're gonna be right here,” he said. Which, of course, only made Junkrat want to cry even more.

“ Yeah,” chimed in Hana. “Uncle Lucio and Aunt Hana! Or maybe Aunt D.Va. Which one sounds better, Luce?”

“ I like Aunt D.Va,” said Lucio. “Definitely Aunt D.Va. Fits you pretty well.” Hana laughed and pushed his shoulder hard enough that Lucio fell into Junkrat and they all ended up in a laughing heap on the floor (Sniff having long since abandoned their shenanigans).

“ Shit,” said Junkrat, still heaving with laughter. “Probably shouldn't press on the baby that much.” Lucio and Hana immediately sat up, alarmed. Junkrat waved a hand. “Nah, don't worry about it that much. My belly feels like an armored truck. Baby's pretty safe in there.” A sudden tension filled his lower half. “It's my bladder we really gotta worry about here. Gotta piss, folks!” Hana and Lucio both stood to help him to his foot, Lucio helpfully reaching over and grabbing his crutch as well. It was starting to take two extra people to help him up between the extra weight and the missing pegleg. One, if Roadhog was there. Junkrat hated feeling that dependent on other people. But, at this point, he was pretty sure he'd picked the right people to depend on.

\---

About a week later, Roadhog and Junkrat were leaving for the dining hall when two blurs of green and pink burst through a door a few feet behind them.

“ Junkrat!” yelled Hana, sprinting to catch up. “We heard you heading out and we wanted to catch you before we had to go on our mission!” She made it over to them and thrust something into Junkrat's hands. Junkrat looked down at the mysterious object. It looked like some kind of… book? But a handwritten one with spiral edges like one of the notebooks he was always drawing up schematics in. There was a drawing taped to the front, a sketchy crayon thing showing Junkrat and Roadhog with a kid between them. The kid was pudgy with Junkrat's blond hair and a shirt bore a picture of a smiling yellow bomb on it. There was something written over top of the drawing, but Junkrat, of course, could not read it. Except for the part that was his own name.

“ It's a parenting book,” said Lucio, a large grin spread across his face. “We're calling it  _ Junkrat's Great Dad Handbook _ .”

“ You were worried because you don't have parents,” Hana explained. “So we talked to the only parents we know, which is Ana and Torbjorn. So the advice in here might be a bit  _ interesting _ sometimes, but it's better than nothing!”

“ We also drew some illustrations,” said Lucio. “Torbjorn and Ana included.” Junkrat flipped through the notebook to see that almost every page had a helpful illustration on it, some scribbled in crayon like the one on the front, some with an impressive amount of shading, some drawn in neat, clean lines, and a few almost drawn like technical blueprints. Junkrat wondered for a second if his friends suspected that he couldn't read, because the illustrations pretty clearly showed what he assumed the tips were saying. One of the nicest things about the book, though, was that not a single one of the illustrations included a woman cupping her baby close to her chest, like all of Roadhog's guidebooks seemed to feature. All just Junkrat and Roadhog, and sometimes generic people who didn't particularly look like men or women.

“ Why,” he started. “W-why,” breath, “do you want me,” breath, “to cry?” Lucio's eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Hana beat him to the punch.

“ I think that's kind of what friends do,” she said.  _ Friends _ . He still wasn't used to it. “I mean, make you good-cry.”

“ It  _ is _ good crying, right?” asked Lucio. “You like it?” But Junkrat was too far gone by now to even answer his question. Roadhog took the book gently from his hands and gave him a quick shoulder squeeze.

“ He likes it,” he said. “You should probably head off now.” Both of the smaller duo nodded simultaneously.

“ See ya around, dude,” said Lucio.

“ Bye, Junkrat!” said Hana. “Hope you stop crying soon!”

And with that, they were off. Once they were gone, Roadhog slowly turned Junkrat so that he was buried safely in Roadhog's chest. Junkrat's hands came up to grip at Roadhog's giant sweatshirt. It was a real cute one, pale pink with a fuzzy hood and a little cartoon of a panda bear saying “hello” on the front. Junkrat hated that they had to wear real clothes, especially as it got closer to winter and Overwatch didn't want to “overdo it” with their heating bills, but he had to admit that the soft sweatshirt was one of his favorites, and very good for burying himself in.

“ You okay?” asked Roadhog.

“ Foine,” said Junkrat, but he was still sobbing. He rolled out of his chest and took Roadhog's hand in his own, leaving the other one firmly gripping at the much-loathed crutch. His shoulders shuddered again. “Friends are weird.”

“ Sure are, love,” said Roadhog, steadying him as they walked. “Sure are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in case you couldn't figure it out, I like rats a lot and I was super happy to combine two of my special interests into one fic. also hooray for mei! I was so glad to be able to write a positive interaction between her and junkrat. made my heart glow n all that jazz. 
> 
> idk when I'm gonna get the next chapter out. again, I'm coming to the end of the fic in my draft, and the end is pretty uncharted. I've never been great at writing endings. I think this fic is going to come in at around eleven chapters (twelve including the prologue) but don't quote me on that. 
> 
> (also if you were wondering about roadhog's sweatshirt here are a couple of pics of me a few years back wearing a much smaller version: http://g4yr4t.tumblr.com/post/84347803640/got-off-to-a-shaky-start-this-morning-and-skipped )


	9. Chapter Eight: The End is Nigh (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat really wants to be done with pregnancy. Plus, an argument and some fun infodumping about rat care!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya friends! sorry this chapter took so long to get out, and that, for all that, it's not particularly long. the chapter I just got done writing *was* particularly long, and I got stuck in the middle. I'm also still working 8am-6pm some days and my brain is worn out. you may also notice that I've added a cutoff chapter for this fic, so now you know how much longer it's gonna be! yay! figured I'd give you some warning before I just like. stopped writing lol. 
> 
> **tws for this chapter (pay attention please!): animal illness (not life threatening), vomit mention, mentions of unhealthy sex/sex as self harm/sex related to moodswings**

“ I'm done being pregnant,” Junkrat proclaimed loudly, somewhere around seven months in. “I'm takin' me body back, me brain back, me leg back. All of it. Y'hear that, baby? I'm taking it back. Get out. Get out get out  _ get out GET OUT! _ ” When he did not immediately give birth on the dining hall floor, Junkrat plunked himself back into his seat and crossed his arms over his now‑massive belly.

“ I hate waiting,” he growled, bushy eyebrows furrowed low.

“ I think everyone in the dining hall knows that now,” said Hana, deadpan as she twirled spaghetti around her fork. “If they didn't already before.” Junkrat must've looked about ready to bite her head off, because Lucio rushed to chime in.

“ Heeeeeeey,” he said nervously. “You seem a little stressed, man. How about some beats to calm you down?” Junkrat slammed his fists on the table, making the flatware jump and jangle on the metal dining trays.

“ I don't  _ want _ to be calm,” he said. “I want this damn thing  _ OUT OF ME! _ ”

“ Pipe down over there!” yelled Beardy from somewhere around the other side of the dining hall. Junkrat immediately stood to fight him, but Roadhog didn't even have to pull him back down before someone came to his defense.

“ Oh, let the boy be, Torbjorn,” said the older woman sitting next to the beardy bloke. She took a serene sip of her steaming hot cup of tea. Junkrat didn't even know that you could get tea in here. Not that he would get any if he had known – didn't like the idea of hot leaf water, no matter how much Roadie loved it.

“ Pregnancy is miserable,” she continued. “He'll be done in a few months. Let him shout until then.” The man beside her grumbled, but didn't yell at Junkrat again.

“ Ta,” called Junkrat across the hall. He turned back to the party at his table. “Who's Cool Gram over there?”

“ That's Ana,” said Lucio, smiling. “She's one of the original members of Overwatch.” Junkrat whistled.

“ Badass,” he said.

“ Yup!” said Hana. “She's also Pharah's mom. We got her to help write that book for you, remember?” Junkrat couldn't remember – he knew that there were two names on the book, but he couldn't read them, anyway. He did have a vague memory of Roadhog telling them to him when they first started reading the book together.

“ Torbjorn over there is actually the other guy we asked,” said Lucio. “He's a good guy. One of the original bunch, too. He's just kind of grouchy sometimes.”

“ Makes good armor,” said Roadhog. He turned his face towards Junkrat. “Could've helped you with your leg. If you'd let 'im.”

“ No one messes with me leg but me,” said Junkrat. He reached down, expecting to hear the reassuring clank of metal on metal, but his hand found only scarred skin. Junkrat's other hand started reaching up to tug at his hair. It'd gotten thicker than it had been before the pregnancy, but he thought all the hair-pulling he did almost canceled it out.

Before he could get all the way to the roots, Roadhog pulled something out of his pocket and pushed it into his hand. It was this little thingamabob Roadhog had made out of wire he'd twisted together with his hands. He'd been on the computer for a while, holding a handful of thick metal wires while typing one-handed on the extra-large keyboard he'd been provided. Then, much to Junkrat's surprise, he'd taken the pieces of metal and bent them into loops and shapes, locking them together in strange patterns. They made these weird little puzzles that gave Junkrat something better to do with his hands and brain now that he couldn't tinker with bombs or traps. Hana and Lucio had gotten him one of those cubes with the different colored squares on it, but he'd smashed it in a fit of rage when he couldn't figure it out as fast as he'd like. Metal was significantly harder to smash, even if you threw it full-force against a concrete wall. Junkrat accepted the puzzle from Roadhog and started sliding the pieces around.

“ I hate this,” he said, his eyes tracking the motions his hands made as they manipulated the puzzle. “No bombs, no booze, have to piss like a racehorse, hungry all the time but puking it up.” Hands still working the puzzle, he flicked his eyes towards the pile of carrots on his tray. “Like these. Yesterday they was fine, today I take one bite and I'm about to hurl. And then there's  _ this bloody thing! _ ” He dropped his puzzle to pick up the crutch, just narrowly avoiding clocking Roadhog with it as he waved it around. Roadhog made an annoyed noise and pushed Junkrat's arm back down, pointing at the puzzle. Junkrat dropped the crutch and picked the twisty bits metal up again.

“ None of me clothes fit anymore,” he said. “Even the ones I got when me old clothes didn't fit anymore.”

“ That's just what pregnancy's like, I think,” said Lucio.

“ What do you know?” sneered Junkrat. His shoulders slumped. “Sorry, mate. Just tired of this. And all the clothes for preggos are made for sheilas. How come there's no pregnancy clothes for blokes yet?”

“ Why don't we get you some new clothes?” asked Hana. “Nothing like a shopping montage to cheer you up!”

“ I  _ hate  _ clothes,” said Junkrat. “Back in Oz I didn't have to wear shirts.”

“ Back in Oz you couldn't walk in the rain without melting,” pointed out Roadhog.

“ Let me have this!” Junkrat screeched, banging his fists on the table to punctuate the words.

“ It's gonna be winter soon, and then it'll be cold for real. For you, anyway. You've gotta get some new clothes, dude,” said Lucio. “I think you just need to find  _ the right _ clothes. Having control over how you look is  _ sweet _ ! And I bet you could be a pretty stylish dude.”

“ Right!” agreed Hana. “Like with your cool skirts. Pinnacle of fashion right there.” Junkrat preened a little, smoothing down the thick fabric of his long black skirt, ripped up the size for mobility's sake just like the other ones. He'd just been wearing his black hoodie with it, but that was starting to get a bit tight around the belly. He thought he could picture himself in something a little more outgoing, though.

“ When you put it that way,” he said. “I guess you're roight! Always thought I was ahead of the curve in fashion. Just need the clothes to go with my cool attitude.” Roadhog snorted. “What??? I'm cool!” Hog booped the snout of his nose on Junkrat's cheek, an imitation of a kiss.

“ Yeah right,” he said. Junkrat couldn't figure out whether he should be happy or angry, so he just sat there and let himself turn red while Hana and Lucio laughed at his expense.

\---

Junkrat returned from the shopping trip exhausted and holding what felt like about eighty bags. All on his left arm, of course, because he refused to let Hana or Lucio help him and he needed his right one to hold the crutch. As he staggered in, Roadhog immediately rushed over and grabbed the bags right off the smaller Junker's arm.

“ Ta,” said Junkrat wearily, crashing down onto an old, well-used armchair Roadhog had recently added to their dwelling. He'd also brought in a few pictures, a couple cross-stitches, and some throw pillows. All of which made the room look homier, but which also made Junkrat wonder how a man who'd made hundreds of Junkers or more shit their pants in terror could be so into décor that better suited an 80-year-old woman. He'd said as much, but Roadhog had merely shrugged. Junkrat wasn't really sure where all the new stuff had come from, but right now he was pretty fuckin' into it.

“ Did you  _ think _ at all?” demanded Roadhog.

“ What's that, love?” asked Junkrat.

“ You were walking  _ alone _ with all that?” asked Roadhog. Junkrat nodded, still not understanding the problem. He just barely grasped the Roadhog was angry. Angry at him? Why? “Jamison, you have one leg!”

“ I always have one leg,” said Junkrat, blood rushing to his head as he processed Roadhog's anger. “What's yer point?”

“ You know damn well what I mean,” Roadhog growled. It wasn't quite the Enforcer voice, but it was close enough that it set Junkrat on edge. He leapt to his good foot – or would have, if he weren't so pregnant and tired and off-balance. Instead, he laboriously pushed himself up off the chair and swayed a bit until he could grab his crutch and steady himself.

“ No, I don't know,” he spat. “Touched in the bloody head, remember? Too stupid to take care of meself!”

“ It's not just about you anymore!” yelled Roadhog. Oh, so they were yelling now? Junkrat bared his teeth in a way that sort of looked and felt like a grin. He hadn't had a good fight in a while, and the boiling blood felt like a drug in his veins. One of the good drugs.

“ You're angry, huh?” he asked. “What're you gonna do, hit me? Don't wanna hurt the baby, do ya?” Roadhog immediately took two steps back, blinking in confusion.

“ What're you doing?” he asked. Junkrat kept moving towards him, eyes burning up at Roadhog and the same animal grin on his face.

“ You want something else, then? Not fighting; the other one?” He lunged forward, sloppily kissing and biting at Roadhog's neck. He hadn't gotten too far with it before Roadhog's entire hand was shoved between his face and Roadhog's neck. Junkrat screamed and bit down on it, which at least made Roadhog drop the hand. Shaking his head, Roadhog handed Junkrat the crutch he had dropped and pushed him away, retreating towards the bathroom. The bastard. The bloody coward.

“ What?” he yelled. “I'm too disgusting for you now? Knocked me up and suddenly I'm hideous to you? You're too good for me? I've always been an ugly fuck and you know it!” It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair, but his brain wasn't listening right now. It was his guts. It was his blood.

“ You're trying to make me fight you,” said Roadhog, stopped in his tracks but with his back still turned to Junkrat. “Or fuck you. Not doing this right now.”

“ Oh? Why not?” yelled Junkrat. “Is it the baby?”

“ I haven't hit you since the first time we met,” said Roadhog. He turned to face Junkrat, and there was more than a little hurt in his otherwise level gaze.“Why're you doing this?” Junkrat's breath caught. Why  _ was _ he doing this?

“ Dunno,” he admitted. “Hormones?” Roadhog shook his head.

“ Don't blame it on that,” he said. “Still gotta come from somewhere.”

“ Dunno,” repeated Junkrat. He slouched onto his crutch, even though it dug into the fleshy parts of his arm and made his shoulder ache. “Guess I don't like you treatin' me like this. Like I'm stupid, y'know, or like I'm… breakable?”

“ You are breakable,” said Roadhog. Junkrat growled, and Roadhog amended: “Compared to me.”

“ Mako,” said Junkrat. “An elephant is breakable compared to you.”

“ Fair,” said Roadhog. “Being your bodyguard,” he looked Junkrat dead in the eye, “and your partner… makes me see everything that can hurt you. And now there's a baby. It's… stressful.” His hands flexed at his sides, clenching so hard that his black-painted fingernails must've been digging into his palms and then slowly unclenching again. Junkrat shambled towards him and reached out to put a hand in his. Roadhog flinched back for a second before accepting, and Junkrat felt almost unbearable guilt well up in the pit of his stomach and curl around his heart.

“ Sorry,” he said quietly.

“ 'S fine,” said Roadhog. “Haven't had to deal with that in a long time, is all. Don't want to hurt you.”

“ You wouldn't,” said Junkrat. The guilt squeezed tight. “Shouldn't've acted like you would. Thanks for not fighting me. Or fucking me.” Roadhog nodded. They both knew from experience how bad letting Junkrat's highs and lows dictate their sex life could get. Too many nights spent curled away from Roadhog, flinching at his touch and crying as quietly as he could had taught them that. A long silence passed, but with each passing second of their hands clasped together it became more comfortable.

“ Wanna show me some clothes?” asked Roadhog finally. Junkrat perked up instantly.

“ Hell yeah I do!” he said, rushing over to the bags as fast as the crutch would allow him. “Just you wait, Roadie, once I get less pregnant I'm gonna be a fashion model!” Roadhog laughed at that, but Junkrat couldn't be offended. Roadie wanted him to be safe. Annoying as it was, it felt kind of nice.

Like hell was he going to admit it, though.

\---

Junkrat lay, as he so often did, on the floor with the rats, occasionally dipping his fingers in yogurt he'd swiped from the dining hall and giggling as they licked it off. The icky (gross disgusting bad) feeling of food on his bare skin was worth the sensation of their tiny tongues as they gave the gentlest little licks he could imagine. There were a lot of things Junkrat liked in this world – bombs, heists, the little wire puzzles Roadhog made him, anything shiny – but he thought that rats might be climbing their way to the top with their strange little people hands. Well, maybe not the top. Bombs had to be at the top, always. Rats were somewhere in there, though. Somewhere very high up.

Sniff gripped the side of Junkrat's large sweater (brightly patterned with a series of colored bars that none of the trio had understood when he bought it but which might've had something to do with old televisions) and scrabbled up onto his belly. Junkrat loved that. It was like he had become a mountain, and the rats were little climbers. He especially loved when they stood up on their back legs to make themselves Tall, which Sniff was doing right now. His belly shook with barely-contained laughter (he had to be so careful with their sensitive ears and tendency to bolt), but then stopped as he heard something a little off about her normal sniffing. He reached out and grabbed Sniff, who made an indignant squeaking noise as he did, and held her to his ear. Sure enough, her sniff had turned into a snuffle.

Junkrat scrambled up and, after locating Scratch and plopping her onto his shoulder, made a mad dash for Mei's room. Logically, he knew it wasn't urgent enough for him to run. If Roadhog were around, he would've barked at him to slow the fuck down, tripping and falling wasn't going to help anyone. Junkrat knew that all of this was true and rational but  _ oh God what if something was really wrong with her, what if she died on the way to Mei's room, what if something happened and Scratch was left all alone? _

In all his rushing, Junkrat had forgotten that it was roughly three in the morning until Pink Lady answered his frantic knocking, looking tired and pissed as hell.

“ Little rat,” she said, and she did not sound pleased. “What are you doing here?” She eyed the creature on his shoulder, then the one squirming in his hands. “With littler rats?”

“ Uhhh,” said Junkrat. Only a few seconds into the encounter and he was starting to sweat under the muscular woman's gaze. “Is Mei awake?”

“ I am now,” said Mei, emerging from the darkness of the room. She wore a black sports bra and shorts, her hair mussed and her expression no more amused than her companion's. She spotted the rats and her brow immediately furrowed. “Is there a problem with the rats?”

“ Scratch is fine,” Junkrat babbled. “But there's something up with Sniff. She's making these noises when she breathes and I don't like it.” Mei sighed.

“ Come in,” she said, flicking on the lightswitch. Junkrat squeezed past Pink Lady (who didn't budge an inch) and into the room. Mei led Junkrat over to a large metal table that was pushed up against the opposite wall from the bed. It was shiny and bright, covered in little labeled bottles and stands with test tubes and what Junkrat guessed was a tiny scale. It kind of reminded him of the work table where he made his explosives, only a lot cleaner and more organized. Mei stretched out her hand for Sniff, who Junkrat dutifully handed off, wiggly though the rat was. Just like Junkrat had, she held the rat up to her ear and then nodded knowingly at what she heard. Next, she placed the rat in the metal container that made up the top of the scale. Sniff scritched her claws over the interior, but couldn't get out. After a few seconds and some flashing numbers, Mei gave Sniff back to Junkrat, who lifted her so that she could scurry over his shoulders with her sister.

“ As I suspected,” she said. “It's just a respiratory infection. It doesn't seem to be too far along; you probably caught it right at the very beginning. No weight loss or anything like that. I can mix up a suspension for this and she should be fine. I'll be in the bathroom for a second while I make it.” She looked between Pink Lady and Junkrat. “Play nice.” And with that, she left the two alone together. They stood in uncomfortable silence as they heard water running in the bathroom and Mei humming while she mixed up the medication.

“ Can I hold one?” asked Pink Lady after a few seconds. Junkrat started. When she'd opened her mouth to speak, he'd just assumed it was going to be an insult or a thinly-veiled threat.

“ Sure,” he said, offering Scratch to her. “Go for it.” Pink Lady took the rat in her hand and watch intently as she climbed up her well-defined arm and onto one broad shoulder. Then, much to Junkrat's surprise, the Pink Lady let out a giggle. It was low, sure, but it was definitely a giggle. Scratch stood tall to sniff at her ear and Pink Lady laughed again as the whiskers tickled her skin. She was going to be covered in tiny scratch marks from the rat's sharp nails, but she didn't seem to care. She didn't look half as scary when she was having a gigglefit with a rat on her shoulder; Junkrat felt some tension ease out of his muscles. Mei returned, holding a tiny bottle full of something brown and an equally small syringe.

“ This is Baytril. Give it to her twice a day and–” She noticed Pink Lady, who was now smiling with lips sealed tight as she avoided Scratch's attempts at investigating her mouth. Little bugger loved playing dentist. Or  _ ro _ dentist. Mei grinned.

“ You are  _ precious _ !” she said, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss onto Pink Lady's cheek. Pink Lady turned a little bit… well, pink, and handed Scratch off to Junkrat again. Mei cleared her throat.

“ This is Baytril,” she said again. “It doesn't need to go in the refrigerator. Shake it.” She shook the bottle. “Take the cap off.” She popped off the red cap and palmed it. “And fill the syringe to .5ml. A very, very small amount.” She stuck the syringe into the bottle and pulled back the plunger until just a little bit had been sucked in. Then, she handed the syringe to Junkrat. “Hold it out to her. It's peanut butter flavor, so she should like it.” Sure enough, both rats on Junkrat's shoulder immediately rushed for the medicine. He had to push back Scratch's grabby paws to make sure that Sniff got all of it.

“ See?” said Mei. “Easy. Twice a day for two weeks. Then come to see me again. In daylight, please.” The last part carried an undertone of threat that was not lost on Junkrat.

“ Hear ya loud and clear!” he said. He took the bottle from her. “But, uh. You mind writing all that down?”

“ Not at all,” said Mei, smiling wearily. She went off to retrieve a pencil and paper, leaving Pink Lady and Junkrat together again.

“ If you wanna see 'em, you can just stop by,” said Junkrat.

“ We're not friends,” said Pink Lady, which, honest to God, froze Junkrat's heart mid-beat. But then she smiled. “But maybe I will come by to see the little ones.”

Junkrat did his best to grin at that instead of bolting from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ended up being more like three vignettes than a cohesive thing, but there was stuff I wanted to get done before the end of the story! I really wanted to write a shopping montage, but I didn't have the time or energy. I did, of course, have the time an energy to infodump about rat illness, because I always have time for that. forgive me. hope you liked it! next chapter really starts to feel like wrapping up, imo, so stay tuned!


	10. Chapter Nine: The End is Nigh (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat panics about names and body pains. Roadhog has an upsetting dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I've got some kind of exciting news (for me, anyway). I was writing the epilogue to this fic and I got stuck because there was so much I wanted to write and I had no idea how to organize it into a single chapter. SO, once I'm done posting this fic, I'm gonna take a bit of a break and then write a companion fic that's all vignettes from after the baby's born! woo woo!!
> 
> this is the chapter where I finally realized "shit I'm almost done writing this thing," so I had some similar feelings to junkrat's in this chapter. but about my writing, and not an actual baby. no matter what my browsing history seems to think, I am definitely not pregnant. 
> 
> *tws for this chapter: mentions of child death, limb-crushing, and amputation. also, junkrat talks about taking a shit like five thousand times, which I don't think is usually the kind of thing you warn for, but.*

Junkrat sat bolt upright in bed, covered in a thin layer of sweat that rapidly chilled as his skin came into contact with the air. Eyes wild in the nighttime darkness, he turned to Roadhog and shook his shoulder (as hard as he could, because otherwise the big guy wouldn't feel it at all).

“Mako,” he whispered harshly. “Mako, wake up.”

“What?” grumbled Roadhog, voice heavy with sleep. 

“We don't have a name for the baby!” said Junkrat. “Kid's gotta have a name or else what're we gonna call 'em? 'Hey, kid, stop chewing those wires!' 'Look, the kid's grooming themself!'” 

“Kid's not gonna be a rat, Jamie,” said Roadhog. His eyes were still closed, and he sounded more than a little annoyed at being woken from his slumber. He'd been on a pretty big mission that day, and Junkrat knew that he should let Roadhog get some rest, but this was too important. Angela said that the kid was gonna be coming pretty soon—less than a month, even! And he and Roadhog hadn't even talked about names yet. What kind of father didn't know what to call his kid a few weeks before it came out of him?

“What're we gonna call 'em, Mako?” he asked again, completely ignoring the rat comment. His voice was getting louder, almost to the point where it wasn't a whisper anymore. Mako cracked an eye open and glanced at the clock.

“’S one in the morning, Jamie,” he said. “We'll talk about it when the sun's up.” He closed his eyes again and turned over onto his side. Exhaling irritably, Junkrat grabbed for his shoulder again, but Roadhog swatted his hand away. Within minutes, he was back to snoring in that deep, peaceful rumble of his.

Junkrat sighed. It was easy enough for Roadhog to go back to sleep, but now that _he'd_ had the thought it wasn't going to stop running tracks into the floor of his brain. Not until he did something about it. Still in the dark, Junkrat reattached his right arm, grabbed his crutch, and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned back to look at Roadhog, still snoring and mountainous, and blew a silent kiss. Sappy, he knew it, but it wasn't like Roadhog was gonna know anyway.

His next stop was Hana and Lucio's room. It was one in the morning, sure, but they were probably the only people in the building who were voluntarily awake. He knocked on the door and barely even waited for Lucio to answer before he launched into his panicked rant.

“Don't have a name for the kid,” he started. “Kid’s gonna be here in a few weeks and I don't have a name to call 'em. I've gotta have a name for the kid, gotta call 'em something, y'know? You guys have to help me. Clock's ticking, tick tock tick tock tick _fucking_ tock, mate, gotta think of a name, gotta think of one, ya gotta help me!” He hadn't really realized that he'd grabbed Lucio's shoulders until the smaller man was delicately removing Junkrat's fingers. He was wearing pajamas—a blue t-shirt and pants with frogs on them—and Junkrat thought for a second that he might've woken them before he heard Hana call “Hi, Junkrat!” from somewhere in the room.

“What should I name my baby?” he screeched back. Lucio patted Junkrat awkwardly somewhere below his too-high-up shoulder and held a finger to his lips.

“Hey, dude, you gotta keep it down,” he said quietly. “We're still awake, but you don't wanna wake up the Oldies, right?” Junkrat shook his head. The beardy little bloke could be funny when he was yelling, but he didn't want to disturb Cool Gram. Plus, the one with the sword was even bigger than Roadhog! Or, taller at least, and he had some considerable muscle on him, especially for an old guy. On their way into the room, Lucio nudged Hana, who was on the floor in front of the television, with his foot.

“You gotta keep quiet, too,” he said.

“I _am_ keeping quiet!” protested Hana. At Lucio's pointed look, she conceded, “Or I _was_ until just now!”

“You get loud around him,” said Lucio plainly. Junkrat grinned.

“I'm a bad influence,” he said. The grin dropped. “So, what am I gonna name this thing? Kid's comin' soon and they gotta have a name.”

“Shouldn't you talk to Roadhog about–” started Lucio just as Hana threw down her controller and said, “This calls for a serious brainstorming environment!” Lucio shot a glare at her for her volume, and she cast a sheepish grin back.

“Sorry,” she said, lowering her voice. “We've gotta get into one of the labs. They've got those cool whiteboard things and we could wear lab coats!”

“Didn't Winston tell us to stop using the labs?” asked Lucio.

“Only for 'frivolous purposes,'” Hana put air quotes around that last part. “Not that we ever did. But this is definitely _not_ a frivolous purpose. It's about Junkrat's baby!” Lucio considered for a moment, then shrugged.

“Sounds fair,” he said. A smile lit up his face. “Let's head on over, then.”

The trio made their way to the lab, talking back and forth in quick bursts of hushed, excited words. Once they arrived at the big glass door, Hana punched in a series of numbers and letters so quickly that Junkrat couldn't keep track of them. The doors obligingly slid open at her final keystroke.

“Huh,” she said. “He really didn't change it after we got kicked out. Isn’t Overwatch supposed to have topline security or something?”

“Still not gonna ask you how you got that password,” said Lucio. Hana flashed a devious smile.

“Good,” she said. The lights sensed their motion and flicked themselves on. Hana walked toward a console on the side of the room and pressed a button. Suddenly, a wide, blueish screen appeared in front of them. Smiling, Hana walked over and tapped her fingers against the screen, leaving little pink spots as she did so. Slack jawed, Junkrat cautiously approached the screen.

“What is it,” he said, hushed and awed.

“It's a whiteboard!” said Hana. “Well, sorta. That's what they used to be called. Here, what color do you want?” She reached out for his hand and then stopped. “May I?” Junkrat nodded and she took his hand. “It responds to your fingerprints,” she said, placing his fingers onto the immaterial surface of the board, which lit up bright blue around his fingertip. She held them there for a few seconds and then curled his fingers back into his palm so that only the pointer was outstretched. A strip of different colors appeared beneath his finger.

“What color do you want?” Hana asked again.

“Orange,” said Junkrat. To match his metal pieces. Hana nodded and pulled his pointer finger down to the orange block. She let go of his hand.

“There!” she said. “All set up!” Junkrat eyed the screen warily, then traced the shape of a bomb in the air front of him, with his signature smiley face and everything. His eyes widened and his lips twitched into a smile.

“Lucio!” he called back. “Lucio, have you seen this?” Lucio laughed and walked over to the screen, where he drew a little frog with headphones in green lines that appeared at his fingertips.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he asked. “If you wanna erase, you just smudge it out with your thumb.” He demonstrated, and Junkrat's mouth was hanging open once again.

“Hooley dooley,” he said with a whistle. “We didn't have stuff like this back in Oz. Mostly drew in the sand. I _was_ living on the run for years, though.” He snickered. “Not the best tech in the Outback. How's all of this s'posed to help me name my baby, though?”

“We're gonna write down ideas!” said Hana excitedly. “We'll each have a list—mine's in pink, yours is in orange, and Lucio's is in green. We'll all write down our ideas and then go through and pick out the best ones.” At the sound of the word “write,” Junkrat's heart sank to his stomach.

“Um, about that,” he said quietly, but Lucio and Hana had already started writing their own names up on the tops of their lists. Junkrat dropped the subject and reached up to put his own name at the top of his list-to-be in messy handwriting. He knew, at least, how that word was supposed to look, except that he could never remember which directions some of the letters were supposed to go in. He had about a million different names swirling chaotically around in his head, crashing into each other and exploding, but it was a struggle to try to put together the letters that would make the right sounds. By the time Lucio and Hana had finished their lists, Junkrat had gotten one name down.

“What's that say, Rat?” asked Hana, squinting and tilting her head.

“Jetpack,” he said. He'd figured he must've spelled _that_ at least kind of right, but looking at it he really wasn't sure. Besides that, his handwriting was shit. He could just barely make out his own letters.

“SICK!” said Hana at the same time as Lucio let out an eloquent “uhhhhhhhhhhh...”

“You got any other names, Rat?” he asked.

“Course I do!” said Junkrat defensively. “Just takes me a while to write 'em down.”

“No problem, dude,” said Lucio.

“Yeah, we'll wait for you,” said Hana. “It's your baby.” Junkrat nodded, turned to the board, and then turned back immediately.

“Alroight, alroight!” he said. “I can't fuckin' write. Or read. I'm a bloody idiot! Are you happy?” There was an awkward silence in the wake of Junkrat's outburst. Hana looked away while Lucio shifted from foot to foot, both unsure of what to say. Junkrat immediately felt guilty for making his friends feel bad.

“You're not an idiot,” said Hana finally. “So you can't write. Whatever. We can write for you.”

“Nah, it's fine,” said Junkrat. “Prob'ly Roadhog's not gonna let me name the kid Jetpack. Or Speed Racer. I love 'im, but he can be a real drag sometimes. I wanna see what you got.” Hana jumped up and down, waving her hand.

“Me first, me first!” she said. She turned towards her part of the screen. “Mine are all gender-neutral, so don't worry about that. We've got Falcon, Skullsmasher, Samus – but you could call them Sam – the Destroyer, Harper–”

“Shouldn't I be in this conversation?” asked a deep, rumbling voice. All three turned towards the door to see, of course, Roadhog standing there in his plaid pajama pants, mask on. Hana and Lucio both gulped, but Junkrat jumped into defensive mode.

“You would've been if you hadn't gone back to sleep!” he said.

“I thought it could wait until morning,” said Roadhog. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You were!” complained Junkrat. “Roadie, we gotta plan for this right now. The baby is _coming_!” By this point, Junkrat was gripping onto Roadhog's (very tall) shoulders and attempting to shake them with limited success. Okay, so. No success, actually.

“I know, Rat.” He dropped his voice lower, so the others couldn't hear him. “This isn't really about the name, is it?”

“Of _course_ it's about the name!” cried Junkrat, shattering the barrier Roadhog had tried to create around them. “What else would it be about?” Roadhog lifted his face to look over at the other two.

“Some privacy?” he asked, but it didn’t come out sounding like a question at all.

“Sounds like a good idea,” said Lucio. “Let's head out, Hana. You'd just hijacked a tank when you pressed pause, right?” Hana nodded reluctantly.

“Better get back to that,” she said. “But first!” She turned back to the screen and, with her finger, drew a hot-pink sketch of something that looked like both a dick and a butt at the same time. Underneath she signed it with a heart and a loopy-scripted “D.Va.”

“Winston's gonna love that,” she said. “Bye guys!”

“Have a good talk!” said Lucio, padding out the door in his bare feet with Hana following close behind him. And now Roadhog and Junkrat were alone together, Roadhog staring down his smaller partner, Junkrat crossing his arms and huffing out an annoyed breath.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Tell me what I'm 'really' thinking.”

“Not gonna do that,” said Roadhog. “You'd know better than I do.”

“Foine, then,” said Junkrat. “It's just the name. Plain and simple. I don't want the kid to come outta me without having some kinda name to call it.”

“Why didn't you care about this until tonight?” asked Roadhog.

“Because I didn't think it was _real_ until tonight!” Junkrat blurted out. “Wait… what? No, that don't make sense. I've been pregnant for almost a year now, I know that I'm havin' a baby. Course it's real.”

“Now it's soon, too,” said Roadhog.

“Yeah,” said Junkrat. “Yeah I guess that makes it kinda different, don't it? Thing's gonna come outta me in a few weeks. Then they'll be a real little thing. A tiny little person. And I'm supposed to be in charge of them and I don't even have a goddamn name for them yet. I'm gonna ruin this kid's life, Roadie. I'm s'posed _destroy_ things, not _take care_ of things.” He laughed. “Well I guess we do get called in to 'take care of things' sometimes but you know what I mean. There's no way I'm not gonna fuck up this baby, and I don't even know who I'm gonna be fucking up now because the damn kid doesn't have a name!”

“Just about the name, huh?” said Roadhog. Junkrat could sense the smug grin beneath the mask. He hated it. He loved it. He let himself tip forward into Roadhog's chest.

“Shaddup,” he said. “Dunno what I'm doing.”

“Rule one,” said Roadhog. “No one knows what they're doing. Not when it's the first time around. Kids are weird and gross and fucking scary. So're you, though.”

“Heeeeey!” said Junkrat, but he honestly didn't have an argument to defend himself, so he left it at that.

“It's gonna work out,” said Roadhog. “You wanna talk names?”

“Yeah,” said Junkrat. He turned around to look at the screen with Roadhog.

“Your friends didn't do half bad,” said Roadhog. “We're not calling the kid the Destroyer. But River, Max, Ash… not bad.”

“None of those are our kid,” said Junkrat. Roadhog snorted.

“And 'Jetpack' is?” he asked. Junkrat wanted to be offended, but there was something comforting about the fact that Roadhog could read his terrible handwriting. It wasn't that he was illiterate, just writing in a secret code only he and Roadie could understand.

“Maybe,” he said. “'S cool. And fiery.” Roadhog considered this for a moment.

“How about Phoenix?” he asked.

“Felix?” asked Junkrat.

“Phoenix,” said Roadhog, pronouncing the name more carefully this time. “I've told you about it. It's a myth. This fire bird that lives forever. Every time it dies, it goes out in flames and gets reborn from the ashes. I've told you before.” Junkrat remembered now. The story, and Roadhog telling it, and the sparks he felt in his chest when he heard Roadhog talk about this beautiful bird that was too amazing to have lived. Except that it did live. For Roadhog, it lived in stories. And for Junkrat? It lived in him.

“Phoenix,” he said. “Now that sounds more like our kid. Big name for a little baby, though.”

“Nix for short,” suggested Roadhog.

“Nix for short!” repeated Junkrat, clapping his hands together, his whole body buzzing. “Phoenix, Nix for short! That's our kid!”

“Thank God,” groaned Roadhog. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“I think so!” said Junkrat. He pivoted on his crutch. “Phoenix, Nix for short, Phoenix, Nix for short,” he sang in this horrible raspy rattling voice he knew must've been one of the most terrible singing voices in the world. Still, he couldn't contain himself. Phoenix, Nix for short. His baby. Their baby.

\---

“So, Lucio n' me were in the middle of a shootout, and the bastard kept dodging my missiles, but then I JESUS FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT???” Junkrat collapsed to his knees in pain, clutching at his stomach, Roadhog immediately running after him to take him by the shoulders.

“What?” he demanded. “What's wrong?”

“Feels like somethin' just stabbed me in the guts, is what's wrong,” snapped Junkrat. “With a knife. A really pointy one.” He looked up at Roadhog with wide eyes. “Is it the baby?” Roadhog hadn't taken off the mask since he'd gotten back to their room, but Junkrat could practically see the furrowed brow and downturned lips.

“Prob’ly,” he said. Then, he added a mumbled, “Fuck.”

“Thing's not done cookin' yet, right?” asked Junkrat, brain on high alert. Roadie was scared, and that made him scared. “Somethin's wrong. Mako, is something wrong? Did I fuck it up?”

“You didn't fuck it up,” said Roadhog. “Whatever's going on, it's not your fault. You feel anything before this?”

“Kinda,” said Junkrat. “Kinda like cramps. Figured they'd go away. What's going on? Mako, is something wrong?”

“Dunno,” said Roadhog. He hefted Junkrat, now prone on the floor, into his arms. Even with the extra weight, Junkrat still felt like he must be a sack of feathers in Roadhog's arms. His frantic mind twitched from place to place—the baby, the pain, the million things he could've fucked up to make this happen—but he relaxed the slightest bit in the big guy's grasp.

“We're gonna see Angela,” announced Roadhog. “She'll know better.” Teary-eyed from the pain and worry, Junkrat nodded. Roadhog shifted his weight to one arm and opened the door to head out. On their (or, Roadhog's) brisk walk through the halls, Junkrat's eyes caught sight of none other than Jesse Fucking McCree, the cowboy's eyes wide and his motions temporarily frozen. Junkrat bared his teeth at him, growling like he could actually do something while missing a leg and being carried by a much larger person. Surprisingly, the tactic worked; McCree averted his eyes and went back to walking in the opposite direction. Good. The ol' Rat still had some fire left in him. Must've been the Phoenix.

They burst into the medical lab to see that, thankfully, Angela was there and not on a mission. Her presence was a huge relief—she had specifically requested that other healers be sent in on missions whenever possible until Junkrat's pregnancy had come to term—but it didn't stop him from sobbing as Roadhog set him down on the examination table. He was in the doctor's office. Something must really be wrong if he was here, waiting for another stab of pain to lance through his lower guts.

“He's having contractions,” said Roadhog, before the doctor could even open her mouth to ask. “It's too early. He's still got a few more weeks.”

“It's because me teeth are so nasty,” sobbed Junkrat. “I would've brushed 'em all me life if I'd known this was gonna happen.”

“Your teeth are much better than they were before,” said Angela. “I doubt that it's that. And even if you are delivering prematurely, we have methods of keeping your baby safe and well until you are ready to bring it home. Have you been having these contractions—these pains—for long?"

“A few,” Junkrat sniffled. “A couple times today. The last one felt like someone was about to carve out me innards, though. And I know what that feels like.” The doctor only nodded, though she did flash a look of concern at Junkrat's last comment.

“Based on your description, my guess is that you and your baby are probably safe,” she said. “Is there any blood?”

“No,” said Junkrat. “Just hurts, is all.”

“That's a good sign,” she said. She swung around to pull something out from her desk. “So, here's what we are going to do. You are going to stay here with me for an hour. I will use this,” she turned around, displaying a small digital stopwatch in her hand, “to time your contractions. You will tell me if they are hurting more or less than the ones before. After an hour, we will decide what to do next. How does that sound?”

“A whole hour?” whined Junkrat, his impatience overriding his anxiety for a second. Angela laughed to herself for a moment before realizing her situation and sobering up. Junkrat kinda hated her for it. Kinda loved her, too.

“Labor will likely be much longer, Mr. Fawkes,” she said. “And this may not even take an hour.” She gestured to the few chairs of various sizes that made up the “waiting room” of the lab. “Here, you don't have to sit on the table. It's just a waiting game for now.” Without being asked, Roadhog lifted him and set him down in one of the chairs before sitting down beside him. He rummaged through his pants pockets until he pulled out a twisty piece of metal. This one wasn't looped together like the puzzles were, but instead had lots of joints that allowed it to be twisted into different shapes and configurations. This one was something that Roadhog had bought instead of made, but Junkrat loved it all the same. He also looped a necklace over Junkrat's head—a simple piece of string with a skulled-shaped charm made of heavy rubber. It already had bite marks on it. Much better than biting down on his own hand and risking breaking teeth or flesh. Junkrat shot him an adoring look, and he saw the tips of Roadhog's ears go pink.

The next contraction came about ten minutes after the last, and wasn't nearly as painful. Now it felt a bit more like when he got his period instead of when he was getting tortured. The next one was half an hour later, according to Angela's watch. It barely hurt, but Junkrat gnawed on his necklace all the same, more from anxiety than pain. The pain was supposed to get worse, right? Something must _really_ be wrong.

“Well, Mr. Fawkes,” said Angela.

“You can call me Jamie,” said Junkrat, because she’d been his doctor for almost a year now and she already knew it anyway.

“Alright, Jamie. I think it's safe to say that you are _not_ in labor. What you were experiencing were Braxton Hicks contractions, or false labor. You've probably been having them for a long time, but they've only now become noticeable because you're so close to delivery. They're just your body's way of getting ready for the baby to come. It won't be long now.”

Junkrat gnawed harder on his necklace.

\---

This time, it was Roadhog who woke up in the middle of the night, his abrupt change in position dragging Junkrat out of his slumber.

“Mako?” he mumbled. “Whassa matter?”

“Nothing,” said Roadhog, but he was panting like he was about to have an asthma attack. Junkrat knew that the mask was nearby, but he couldn't see it in the dark, which frightened him, because what if Roadhog couldn't get to the mask in time and died and then Junkrat had to be a single father mourning the love of his life for the rest of– “Go back to sleep.”

“You havin' an attack?” asked Junkrat. He fumbled around for the lamp. When the lights flicked on, he could see Roadhog, sitting up in bed and soaked in sweat like Junkrat had been a week ago. His eyes were wide like when he'd first heard the baby news, and a huge hand was clutched over his heart.

“No, I'm fine,” he said. Junkrat scowled at that. “You need rest. Go back to sleep.”

“No way I'm goin' back to sleep when you look like you're dyin',” said Junkrat.

“Not dying,” said Roadhog. “Just… had a bad dream, is all.” Junkrat propped himself up on his elbows.

“About what?” he asked.

“Baby stuff,” he said. When it became clear that Junkrat wasn't going to drop the subject and go back to sleep, he sighed. “I was holding the baby and they were… they were perfect, Jamison. Fingers and toes and… eyes. Like yours. And then I… I crushed them in my hands.”

“Oh,” said Junkrat quietly.

“I'm a monster,” said Roadhog, covering his face with his hands. Junkrat reached over, took one of those hands in his, and kissed it.

“Yer not,” he said quietly. “You… you had a kid before, yeah? And you never crushed that one.”

“That was before,” said Roadhog. “Before Roadhog. Before I helped blow up the Omnium. Before I was an Enforcer. Before I… I hurt people like I hurt you.” Junkrat looked at his stump of a leg, right where Roadie had crushed it dragging him back on the first day they met. He'd helped saw it off after they made their dea, once Junkrat wasn’t a mark anymorel. Helped take care of it. Take care of Junkrat. Junkrat kissed his hand again.

“This?” he joked. “Just a flesh wound. Who needs two legs? I'm gettin' by just foine.” Well, less fine since he'd had to take the pegleg off, but he didn't mention it. Roadhog shook his head. 

“I have nightmares,” he said. “About holding the baby, and there's an explosion and all I've got is ashes.”

“Is it our baby,” said Junkrat. “Or yours?” 

“Both,” said Roadhog. “At the same time.”

“What were they like?” asked Junkrat quietly. Roadhog's dark eyes lit up, catching the lamplight.

“He was beautiful,” said Roadhog. “Dark eyes and soft black hair and hands that curled around your fingers. He pulled my hair. Tried to steal my wife's earrings out of her ears.” Junkrat felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy of the mention of Roadhog's wife, but he kept quiet. Roadhog was saying something important. “And then I fucked up and lost them all. Stopped being Mako. Made myself a monster.”

“You're Mako to me,” said Junkrat. Roadhog shook his head.

“You didn't know 'im,” he said.

“But I know 'im now!” argued Junkrat. “Sure, I didn't know ya before, and you're different than you was back then. You can't go back to then or be the same. But nobody can do that. I can't do that, n' I'm pretty happy about it. You're a one-man apocalypse on the field, but here with me? You're just Mako. The Mako I know is gonna be a good dad.”

“Ya think?” asked Roadhog.

“I know,” replied Junkrat. His eyelids felt heavy, like they could drop at any second.

“Go back to sleep,” said Roadhog.

“Not without you,” said Junkrat stubbornly. Roadhog sighed and laid back down, looping his arms around his partner as he did so. With Roadhog's hand over his belly, Junkrat felt that weird baby-kick feeling, like a lizard scurrying around in there.

“See?” he said. “They can't wait to meetcha.”

\---

Junkrat had thought that he'd been miserable before, but now, with his belly protruding so far out that he could eat off it like a dining table, he had redefined misery entirely. The backaches and cramps made it hard enough for him to get around without taking a rest every two minutes, and on top of that all the extra weight on one leg and an arm with a crutch made it nearly impossible walk further than a few steps before leaning against the nearest weight-bearing surface. He had to piss almost constantly, his dreams were getting weird as fuck, no amount of sleep ever felt like enough, and he had to force food down his throat constantly to make sure that the damn kid was getting enough nutrition.

Plus, those damn Fracking-Heck's contractions or whatever they were called popped up every other day or so, or even more. Sometimes they were pretty mild, like something squeezing on his guts, but sometimes it was back to that same knife-stabbing pain he'd experienced before. Between the intense dread he felt as the due date drew nearer and the pain of the fake labor, the chew necklace had become a constant accessory. His jagged teeth were starting to sink deep holes into the thick rubber of the toy, meaning that he'd probably have to order another one. Or have Hana and Lucio order it, since that's what they had done last time. Online shopping was a little difficult when you couldn't bloody read, which was another thing that was constantly on his mind because how the fuck was he supposed to tell his _kid_ that he couldn't do something as simple as _read_ (not that reading felt simple by any stretch, but Junkrat guessed that was just because he was an idiot)?

And that whole running to the bathroom constantly? Not helpful for his mobility, independence, or kill-to-death ratio. Not that the last one was particularly high (he liked to rush in without much of a plan and didn't really understand what “teamwork” was unless he was working with Roadie), but it still sucked to have to throw down the controller so he could piss or take a shit. But the worst thing was when he was in the middle of straining his way back to his room and got the sudden _need_ for the bathroom.

Which was what was happening just now. In the middle of the hall, coming back from lunch with Roadhog, there was a sudden tension in his lower belly. He threw his crutch to the side and gripped onto Roadhog's arm.

“You okay?” asked Roadhog.

“Foine,” said Junkrat, even though it hurt pretty bad. But everything kind of hurt recently. “I just need to take a shit. Pretty soon. You gotta carry me, Roadie.” Without a word of disgust at Junkrat's announcement—he'd been announcing bodily functions the whole time they'd known each other—Roadhog scooped Junkrat into his arms and picked up the pace. Rather than just bring him to their room, Roadhog pretty much dropped Junkrat next to the toilet, for which Junkrat was grateful. No time to waste when shitting your pants was at stake.

After Junkrat had spent about an hour on the toilet, Roadhog knocked on the door.

“Rat?” he asked. “You okay in there?”

“A little privacy?” called Junkrat. “I'm trying to take a goddamn shit in here!” 

“'S just been a while,” said Roadhog.

“Yeah, well, I'm fine, ya–” And then an absolute howl of pain. 

“FUCK!” Junkrat screamed.

“You're fine, huh?” asked Roadhog.

“Shut up!” snapped Junkrat. “I'm just having one of those Hiccup contraptions. Been having those all day and–” Another howl. “They keep getting… closer….” 

“Might be time to see Angela,” said Roadhog, but he didn't open the door. 

“I'm fine, I don't need to… Mako! Mako, it just got really weird in here!”

Roadhog finally opened the door, eyes wide with alarm. “What is it?”

“I think somethin'… popped or somethin' like that,” said Junkrat, a panicked sweat breaking out over his skin. “What's wrong with me? What's going on?”

“Nothing's wrong,” said Roadhog, but it was tough to believe him when he had that look on his face. “You're having the baby, Jamie. It's really happening this time.”

“Well,” said Junkrat, his eyes locked with Roadhog's. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently got a chew necklace for myself (one of the ones they have in the baby aisles) and it's, like, the best decision I've ever made. I wrote about all the stim toys before like all of my students got fidget spinners. I wonder how junkrat would like one of those... by the way, jetpack was one my rats' names (she is, sadly, no longer with us), and speed racer is her sister (who's still kicking!). I figured that if junkrat's naming process were anything like mine, those would probably pop up. 
> 
> next chapter is the Birth Chapter! are you excited? I'm excited!


	11. Chapter Ten: When Can I Squeeze One Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIRTH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, you guys!
> 
> *tws for needles, ptsd flashbacks, torture, and, well. birth. not graphic birth, but it's birth.*

_-The First Hour-_

 

“Your mask,” gasped Junkrat, his body steeping in sweat that had poured like a faucet since the big contraction in the bathroom. “Don't have… your mask…” Roadhog looked down over Junkrat and shook his head, strands of silver hair falling out of his ponytail and into his face. His beautiful, completely unmasked face.

“Don't need it,” he said.

“Not for you!” spat Junkrat. He grabbed at the front of Roadhog's Pachimari t-shirt and pulled him in close. “I need the Hogdrogen, Roadie! You gotta go back and get it for me!” Roadhog pulled back.

“No way,” he said.

“Roadie,” he said. “Roadie, love, remember that time you crushed me leg? Hurts worse'n that. You gotta get the Hogdrogen. Ya owe me.”

“Jamison,” said Roadhog with a tone of finality that told Junkrat that it really wasn't happening. Dammit. He'd really hoped that guilt-tripping him on the leg thing would work. But nope. If the big lug really wasn't gonna budge, there was no use trying to push him.

“Just wait for Angela to get back,” said Roadhog. “You know what's in that gas? No way I'm letting that shit near our baby.”

“You let me take it!” protested Junkrat.

“When you were dying,” said Roadhog. “And not pregnant.”

“ _I hate you!”_ screamed Junkrat. And in that moment, he thought he really might. He was going to explode and get baby bits all over the place and Roadhog wouldn't let him die with a drugged-out smile on his face? It was just at the moment of Junkrat's impassioned proclamation that Angela re-entered the scene, snapping on a pair of pale blue gloves.

“I take it the contractions are in full-swing?” she said, cracking a smile.

“I hate _you_ too,” Junkrat hissed. He scrabbled around, trying to sit up so that he could take a swing at one of the two prize assholes beside him. In the end, though, he couldn't manage to get into an upright position. He crashed back down on the pillow, breathing heavily.

“I apologize, Mr. Fawkes,” said Angela. “My joke was badly timed.” Junkrat sighed.

“Call me Junkrat,” he said. “You're 'bout to see me push a human being outta me parts, ya can't be callin' me 'Mr. Fawkes' the whole time. That's me dad. I think.” He wasn't actually sure where he'd gotten the name “Fawkes” from. Maybe he'd made it up. Either way, that was a long time ago, and it didn't matter right now, when there was some kind of demon trying to claw its way out of his body.

“Alright then, Junkrat,” said Angela a little uncomfortably. Probably wanted to call him “Jamison” or some shit. Well, that wasn't gonna happen. “How are you doing?”

“Just bloody peachy,” said Junkrat, anger starting to surge back up in his chest. “Thought I was goin' to take another wicked pregnancy shit and ended up laid up in a hospital bed, wearing a paper dress and listening to some sheila in a white coat crack jokes about how I'm screamin' me bloody head off every five minutes!” Angela turned to Roadhog.

“Have you noticed any abnormalities so far?” she asked. Roadhog shook his head.

“Pretty normal,” he said. “His water broke about ten minutes ago.”

“So yer just gonna talk about me like I'm not even here?” demanded Junkrat, throwing his arms in the air. “Not like _I'm_ the one having the baby or anything!”

“I'm apologize again,” said the doctor, looking genuinely remorseful this time. “It's just that you're clearly in a lot of pain, and I thought that Mr. Rutledge would be more… coherent.”

“Whazzat mean?” asked Junkrat.

“She thinks she'll get more outta me than you,” said Roadhog.

“She ain't gettin' nothin' outta me,” said Junkrat, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am not your enemy, Junkrat,” said Angela. “We're both on the same team, trying to get this baby out as safely as we possibly can. If the pain is interfering with your ability to think clearly, then we can always look at options for medication.”

“Wait,” said Junkrat. “There's drugs?”

 

_-The Second Hour-_

 

“See, Roadie,” said Junkrat, giggling and taking a hit off the breathing mask Angela had given him. “I _can_ have Hogdrogen.”

“Absolutely not,” said Angela. “That is not Mr. Rutledge's 'Hogdrogen,' it is a 50% blend of oxygen and nitrous oxide. There is no way I would allow you anywhere near the Hogdrogen while you were pregnant, let alone giving birth. Honestly, I recommend that you stay away from it now that you have access to proper medical care. An imprecise dose could kill you.”

Junkrat snorted at that—Roadhog'd given him Hogdrogen more than once and it hadn't killed him yet—but Roadhog nodded like he was taking her seriously. Was no one on his side? Oh well. He giggled and grabbed for the mask again, but Roadhog intercepted it. Junkrat whined.

“We're both on your side,” said Roadhog, and it was only then that Junkrat realized he had been thinking out loud.

“Hey!” complained Junkrat. “You can't just take that from me. Who's the one having the baby here?”

“Are you using that because you need it, or to get high?”

“A little bit of–” He was cut off by a wave of pain the radiated from his abdomen all the way down to the toes of his left foot. His fingers twitched as he desperately reached for the mask Hog was holding over him. Thankfully, Roadhog quickly handed the mask over, looking as close to horrified as Junkrat thought he'd seen him before. Glaring daggers at him, Junkrat fitted the plastic mask around his nose and mouth and inhaled deeply, his muscles relaxing as he breathed.

“Sorry, Rat,” said Roadhog.

“You should be,” said Junkrat. He softened as his pain melted into what seemed like a very distant memory. “Nah, it's okay. I was usin' it to get high juuuuuuust a li'l bit.” He held up his fingers to show a very small space. Then he shrugged and widened the distance. “Maybe more than a little.” He giggled.

“I would advise against that,” said Angela. “The nitrous is safe for labor, but any drug in excess is never a good idea. Besides, I don't want you to be too out of it when the labor starts in earnest.”

“'In earnest?'” Junkrat parroted back. “Wha's she mean, Roadie?”

“Once it starts for real,” said Roadhog.

“What the fuck?” asked Junkrat. “You mean it gets _worse_ , doc?”

“I would prefer not to use the word 'worse,'” said Angela. Junkrat brightened. “But yes, it does get more painful once you are in full labor.”

Junkrat took another hit off the mask.

 

_-The Fifth Hour-_

 

“Roadie,” Junkrat rasped. “Roadie, I don't like this. Gas ain't workin' anymore. Not enough. You gotta do somethin'.” Roadhog frowned and looked at the doctor.

“Got anything stronger?” he asked. Angela shook her head apologetically.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “The only other thing I could offer is an epidural, but you have to be dilated at least four centimeters before that. Junkrat, you're only at three.” Junkrat didn't know what that meant except that he wasn't getting better than what he already had, which did not sit well with him.

“Didn't you say it'd keep gettin' worse?” he asked nervously.

“It will get more painful, yes,” said Angela. “But by the time you're in full labor, I'll be able to administer the epidural. If that's what you want, of course.”

“Well, why wouldn't I want that?” asked Junkrat, almost indignant that she would think otherwise.

“There's a needle,” said Roadhog simply. Junkrat was already covered in sweat, but he felt a fresh wave break out over his skin. He shook his head vigorously.

“No,” he said. “No no no no no. No needles. Not from you. I put up with you stealing my blood, but I don't want no more needles.” And he'd just barely put up with the blood-stealing thing, too. Grit his teeth and bit his tongue and kept his arm from jerking away. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to other places that were hard to come back from when the whole ordeal was over.

“It's up to you,” said Angela. “But the needle is rather small, and I'll apply a topical anesthetic to the area beforehand. You won't even feel it go in.” Junkrat kept shaking his head, covering up his ears, but Roadhog took him carefully by the wrist.

“Rat says no needles,” he said. “So no needles. End of discussion.”

“Fair enough,” said Angela. Junkrat lifted Roadhog's handed and lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss. Roadie must've really been planning on staying in the room for a while, since he'd taken off his rings, ever-present even in plainclothes. That and the mask, of course. Usually.

“I love you,” said Junkrat quietly.

 

_\- The Seventh Hour -_

 

“I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!” screamed Junkrat. “GET OUT! I WANT YOU OUT!”

“Rat, you don't mean that,” said Roadhog calmly.

“Who're you to say what I want?” demanded Junkrat, a little quieter now that his voice was going too hoarse to scream. “I hate you! Without you I'd have both me legs and no baby tryin' to kill me!” Roadhog winced.

“Baby's not trying to kill you,” he said back. “And I love you.”

“I hate you,” said Junkrat again, voice full of venom. Angela looked up at Roadhog, an awkwardness slipping through her calm professionalism.

“Mr. Rutledge,” she said. “If we could perhaps speak for a moment?” Roadhog nodded, and the two went over to some quiet corner of the medical bay, leaving Junkrat alone for a second. He could hear their whispers, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Fine. They wanted to talk, they could talk. They could leave him alone. People gave birth by themselves all the time. Junkrat closed his eyes and felt tears well up as another contraction squeezed its way through is body. He grabbed the mask and inhaled, even though it hadn't done much besides make him a little dizzy in a while. From the corner of his eye, he could see Roadhog leaving the room and started to panic.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait, I take it back, don't leave, please don't leave me!”

“Just going to get water,” Roadhog reassured him. “Be back in a minute.” But Junkrat wasn't listening to reason. His face was wet and a lot snottier than it had been just a moment before.

“Please don't leave,” he said more quietly, but Roadhog was already in the hallway.

“A moment of distance could do you two some good,” said Angela, approaching his hospital bed. Junkrat wanted to strangle her but resisted the urge. She was good, he reminded himself, and he probably _did_ need a doctor to get through this shit. “And I can't leave your side to get anything for you. You need more water.” It _had_ been a while since he'd had anything to drink. Roadhog had left several times before, but recently Junkrat had been alternating between hating Roadhog and clinging to him strongly enough that he hadn't left his side at all.

“But I need him,” said Junkrat. “Hurts worse than anything.”

“Anything?” asked the doctor. Junkrat nodded, then hesitated.

“Probably,” he said. “Maybe. Don't remember. But it hurts.”

“Mr. Rutledge will be back in just a moment,” said Angela. “I promise.”

True to Angela's word, Roadhog returned less than a minute later, holding several small cups of water. He set most of them down on a table near the exit, then handed one of them to the doctor. She thanked him and tipped the cup slowly into Junkrat's mouth. Once she had finished, she smiled at Junkrat.

“There,” she said. “We can't have you passing out, can we?”

And in that moment, something very strange happened. Suddenly, Junkrat wasn't in the med bay anymore with Angela and Roadhog. Instead, he was in some dirty basement, the bed flat and hard, his arms restrained against it. The doctor's face morphed into another, a vague one with indiscernible features aside from a wide, wolfish grin. The pain in his belly was suddenly coming from a multitude of slashes cut deep in his flesh, bleeding and exposed.

“Can't have you dying on us now, can we?” hissed that anonymous face as someone stuck a needle into his arm.

“Yer not gettin' me treasure,” mumbled Junkrat. Somewhere far off, Angela frowned and said something he couldn't hear. She was there, and some partin his brain knew it, but to him there was only pain, and that needle he could only see like he would a ghost, and this faceless person who was healing him just to break him again. 

“Junkrat,” said another voice distantly, this one deeper and almost _right_ in this dirty hell. Maybe not quite an enemy. But no, no, he wasn't safe, he wasn't safe, he jerked his arm away from the phantom needle and cried out. “Jamison!” How did they know his name, his real one? “Boss!” 

“Roadie?” he asked dazedly. A pair of huge hands on his shoulders.

“It's me, Boss,” he said. And he could see that, now. Roadhog in front of him, and good God, was that his face? Where was his mask? He reached up and felt the unprotected, pitted flesh like it was a novelty. Then things started to make a little more sense; the dirty basement started to melt away. His arms were moving, not tied down to the hospital bed. There was no needle in his flesh, no cuts on his huge belly. The doctor had her own face again, and the corners of her mouth were turned down. 

“Boss,” said Roadhog. “You're safe, Boss.” 

“Roadie,” said Junkrat, blinking to clear the vestiges of the flashback from his head. He was almost back, but he needed to be back _right now_ for this baby. He shook his head. “Well, didn’t see that one coming.” Roadhog leaned down and kissed his salty lips. Then his forehead, then the corners of his mouth and his cheeks and nose. Every spot on his gross, snotty face. When Roadhog was done, Junkrat looked up at the doctor, his eyes focusing more with each passing second. 

“Sorry doc,” he said. “Thought you was out to steal my treasure.”

“That'll never happen again,” said Roadhog again before Angela even had time to respond. “I'm never letting anyone get you again.” 

“I know,” said Junkrat. And he did know, now that his brain wasn’t playing evil tricks on him. He had the world’s best bodyguard. World’s best partner. “Sorry for sayin' I hated you. I don't hate you.”

“S'okay,” said Roadhog. “Wife said the same thing when she was having our son.” This time, Junkrat didn't feel jealous at the mention of Roadhog's wife. His life before the Omnium, the one Junkrat had always wished he could've been part of. If he hadn’t been a kid, of course. This time, it was a comfort. Roadhog had done this before. And Junkrat even felt a slight  kinship with this woman who had been in his place years before.

“Really?” asked Junkrat. He took Roadhog's hand. “Tell me about her.”

 

_\- The Ninth Hour -_

 

“Well, congratulations,” said Angela, what felt like centuries later. “You are now officially in full labor.”

“What the hell was that before, then?” asked Junkrat, eyes narrowed into a fiery glare. The doctor opened her mouth to say something doctor-y, but Roadhog (thankfully) beat her to it.

“Hey, Rat,” he said gently. “Phoenix is on their way.” Junkrat smiled at that, his anger melting away in a blink.

“Tell me about the phoenix again,” he said. Roadhog nodded dutifully. It'd become a sort of ritual more recently; when Junkrat got too anxious or pissy about the baby, Roadhog would tell him about the phoenix.

“It's a huge bird,” he said. “Wingspan more than six meters across. Feathers made out of fire, red and orange. Color of your eyes. It lives for a thousand years, maybe more. Only one at a time. But when it's going to die, it flies to the Temple of the Sun and goes out in a great, fiery blaze. Like you. An egg appears in its ashes, and when it hatches, the phoenix is reborn. Cycle repeats. It never dies. Doesn't give up.” Junkrat closed his eyes, lay back further, and smiled, a hand on his belly.

“Just like us, huh, Nix?” he said. Another contraction, this one even more violent than the last, jolted him upright. He grit his teeth and reached out for Roadhog's hand. The squeeze would've broken anyone else's bones, or at least bruised them. Roadhog bore it without complaint.

“Son of a BITCH!” screamed Junkrat. “Roadie! Roadie, what the FUCK? Why's it gotta hurt _this much?_ ” Roadhog shrugged.

“Hurts to make something new,” he said. Junkrat could've bitten his head off for that useless non‑answer. Even bared his teeth to show it.

“Junkrat, you are trying to push an entire human being out of your body,” said Angela. “A small one, I know, but one with a very large head. If you think about the size of the baby relative to the size of your body, it makes perfect sense that it would hurt.” Oddly enough, the doctor's rather rational explanation calmed him down a bit. Or maybe that was just because the contraction was subsiding. Either way, he dropped the snarl.

“Your wife did this?” Roadhog nodded. “And lived?” Another nod.

“Mom and baby came out alive and well,” said Roadhog.

“How'd she swing that?” asked Junkrat, panting as he felt another contraction swell up. They just kept hurting more and coming closer together. He guessed that was a good sign. Guessed it meant that things were moving along like they should. But he would've given anything for the contractions he'd had eight or nine hours ago. Even his treasure.

Nah, not his treasure. 

In the back of his head, Junkrat knew that this wasn't the worst pain he'd withstood, that much worse had been done to him fairly frequently relative to his rather short life. But he'd heard somewhere that your body couldn't remember pain very well, and he'd never been great at remembering stuff. This moment definitely felt like the worst. Every moment definitely felt like the worst. In his entire life. No holds barred. 

He shrieked again, a raw, banshee-sounding noise that ripped through the air like claws. 

“Is it happening?” he demanded. “Is it happening now, Doc?” 

“Not yet,” said Angela. Junkrat let out a frustrated scream. “But the contractions will be getting stronger from this point forward, so the labor should progress more quickly now than it had been before.” 

“Honest?” asked Junkrat. 

“I can make no promises,” said Angela.

“Make the bloody promise,” Junkrat ground out through gritted teeth.

“My prediction,” said the doctor carefully, “is that the speed of labor should increase from now on.”

 

_-The Eleventh Hour-_

 

“You said… this would… be done… by now…” panted Junkrat. The corners of Mercy's lips turned downwards.

“I said nothing of the sort,” she said. “I said that labor should progress more quickly once you were dilated to four centimeters. Which is has been. It took you nine hours to get to four, and now you're almost fully dilated! It's quite the difference.”

“I _hate_ waiting,” grumbled Junkrat. “'Specially when it hurts. Why's it taking so long? Did I do somethin' wrong?”

“As far as I can tell, you've done everything right,” said the doctor, smiling. That put Junkrat a little more at ease. Maybe the first time he'd done everything right in his whole life. And it really mattered this time, too. “It just tends to take longer for new mo–” Junkrat and Roadhog glared at her in tandem. “For people who have never given birth before. The motions are instinctive, but still unfamiliar. It takes time and experience to learn them.”

“'M not a very fast learner,” said Junkrat. The doctor shook her head.

“You will be,” she said. “Trust me.” She took another glance down at his bits, which Junkrat imagined had to be looking like something out of a horror flick by now. “And look at that! It seems as if it is time for you to start pushing!”

“'Pushing?'” echoed Junkrat. “What the hell is pushing?” Angela didn't have a chance to respond before Junkrat found out firsthand what pushing was. It wasn't exactly automatic, like the contractions had been, more like something his body really wanted him to do. All his energy was suddenly put into bearing down on his lower insides. And it hurt like a son of a bitch, too.

“FUCK!” shouted Junkrat. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck I'm gonna shit my guts out, doc. Doc, am I gonna shit my guts out?”

“Your organs will stay inside your body,” assured Angela. If her facial expression was any indication, she found Junkrat's language highly distasteful. Junkrat didn't give a fuck. He was the one “pushing” this wicked little thing out of him. He got to decide what fucking words he wanted to use. “You're getting closer to having the baby, Junkrat. This is where the real work starts.”

“' _The real work_ ,'” Junkrat said mockingly. “Oh, the _real_ work now, is it? Because what I was doin' before was a bloody fuckin' holiday!”

“Before,” said Angela, ignoring the outburst. “Your body was doing most of the work for you. You didn't have to think about it. Now your body wants you to push, but _you're_ the one who has to push. You have to think about it.”

“It's hard work, Rat,” said Roadhog. “But we get a baby out of it, so it's worth it.”

“Fuck you,” said Junkrat. “You're not the one trying to squeeze this thing out of you.” He squinched his eyes tight shut and pushed harder as the wave of a contraction rode itself out. Roadhog put his hand out and Junkrat, in spite of his anger, grabbed it. When the contraction was over, he felt his hand go loose in his partner's.

“Alroight,” he said. “Is the kid here now?”

“No,” said Angela bluntly. “Your contractions will come every five minutes or so, and you'll need to push each time. It could last as little as half an hour or as long as two hours. I'm not going to make guarantees on time, no matter how much you want me to. It wouldn't be fair of me.” She smiled wearily. “But congratulations. You finished your first push. Your baby is on its way.” Roadhog leaned down and kissed his damp cheek. Junkrat couldn't help but smile. Phoenix was on their way. The end was in sight. And he wouldn't be in this goddamn hospital bed with his legs up in metal thingies for the rest of his goddamn life.

About forty-five minutes passed. Forty-five minutes of squeezing Roadhog's hand like a boa constrictor and then releasing it and worrying if, this time, he had left any bruises in spite of Roadhog's size. Forty-five minutes of tiny cups of water tipped back into his throat whenever he was breathing even enough to handle it. Forty-five minutes of Angela reminding him every five minutes to take the time in between contractions to _“relax”_ and _“get back his strength”_ as if either of those things were actually possible, of Roadhog reminding him of breathing exercises they had done before and telling him that he was doing _so well_ . Forty-five minutes of screaming until he was sure that blood was coming out of his mouth. Forty-five minutes of motherfucking _pushing_.

“Can't do it anymore,” he said breathlessly after those forty-five minutes had passed. “Sorry, Roadie, kid's just gonna stay in there. I'll be a balloon for the rest of me life. 'S fine. But I can't do it anymore. Too tired.”

“I'm sorry to say that is not how it works,” said Angela, but Roadhog ran over her next sentence.

“Think about when all of this is over,” he said. “What're you gonna do?” Now that got Junkrat's attention. With what felt like the last of his energy (because at this point he was sure that he was dying), he grinned.

“Gonna hold Phoenix, ‘course,” he said. Then, a wicked grin spread across his face. “An' blow shit up. Every goddamn training bot on the grounds, plus the machines that make 'em. Bloody omnic factories here on me turf? History. Gonna burn it to the ground, the whole training ground.” Another contraction. Another push. His next words were through gritted teeth. “Gonna make a million bombs, set them off all at once, and no one's gonna stop me. Gonna go on missions with you and Hana and Lucio. Sick of sitting around here by myself,” _push harder_ , “bein' all useless,” _harder_ , “and pregnant,” **_harder,_ ** “blow some Talon agents sky‑high, knock down buildings, get shit done again.” It was starting to burn now, but he had to keep pushing. “I'm gonna,” **_keep pushing,_ ** “blow up,” **_come on, is that all you've fucking got,_ ** “the bloody,” **_fucking PUSH,_ ** “world!”

There was crying. There was crying, and it wasn't Junkrat doing it. It was this high-pitched wailing that grated on his ears like nothing he'd ever heard before, but it was strangely… wonderful, too. Somehow perfect. Junkrat watched with wide eyes as Angela held up one of the ugliest creatures he'd ever seen in his life, slick with blood and wrinkly and small. A perfect little thing.

“Congratulations,” she said, smiling in spite of the purple-blue circles under her eyes and her gloves covered in all means of bodily fluids. “It's a–”

“Don't gender my kid!” snapped Junkrat. Then, more docile, he asked, “Can I hold them?”

“Let me go get them cleaned up first,” said Angela. She leaned down and Junkrat heard as snip as she cut the umbilical cord, the last thing that tied their bodies together. “What did you say their name was, again?”

“Phoenix,” said Junkrat. “Phoenix Rutledge Fawkes.”

“What a lovely name,” cooed Angela. She cradled Phoenix in her arms, not seeming to care that she was getting blood all over her lab coat. Then again, it probably wasn't the first time that had happened. “Phoenix will be right back.” She took the baby through one of the doors within the med bay. Junkrat immediately started crying.

“You did it,” said Roadhog. “They're here.”

“I miss them,” he said with a hiccup. “I miss… the baby…” His eyelids were starting to feel heavy, so he closed his eyes. “Can I… I'm just gonna… take a little nap now. Jus' a little one. Be up in five minutes, tops. Wake me when Phoenix gets back, promise?” He could feel more than hear Roadhog's chuckle.

“Promise,” he said. Junkrat nodded and drifted off like he hadn't slept in years.

 

_-A Bit Later-_

 

_Junkrat dreamed of a field. Or maybe “patch” was a better word to describe it, because there was no grass and it was full of watermelons. Stacks upon stacks of huge, green, round fruits. One of the only fruits, incidentally, that Junkrat could stand – crunchy and sweet and, as Roadhog loved to remind him, full of the clean kind of water he couldn't get in the Outback – so he guessed that was nice. Better than standing in a patch of bananas. If that was how bananas grew. Fuck bananas. He stood there alone, staring out at all the melons, until a voice broke through the silence._

“ _Oh,” whispered the voice. “They're yours?” Junkrat spun around to see Lucio standing out in the patch, a couple meters away. Junkrat wanted to ask how the hell he was supposed to know if the goddamn melons were his, he'd just been transported here by some act of whatever god there might be for no reason he could suss out. But, for once in his life, he couldn't manage to open his mouth and make the words come out._

“ _They're beautiful,” whispering Hana, suddenly appearing beside Lucio. Now, Junkrat wanted to thank her just in case they really were his, but again, he couldn't make the words come out. “What's their name?” Now that just didn't make sense. Who the fuck named fruits? And, if they did, why would they give all of them the same name? But Roadhog appeared next to Lucio and Hana, cradling a melon in his arms._

“ _Phoenix,” he said. And that was when Junkrat realized that they weren't talking about the melons at all. That was his baby's name! Junkrat scanned the area around him, but all he could see were watermelons in a great patch of cracked-dirt desert. No baby in sight._

“ _Phoenix,” said Lucio. “That's a beautiful name.”_

“ _Badass,” agreed Hana. A gentle sound came from the melon in Roadhog's arms. A baby sound. Hana cooed back at it. “OMG, they're so cute! Hi there, little friend!” Big, fat tears started to roll down his face. These people were all talking about his baby, but all he could see were these stupid fucking watermelons._

“ _Mako,” he said hoarsely. “Mako, I can't see them!”_

“ _Open your eyes, Jamie,” said Roadhog quietly._

He did. And there they were – Lucio and Hana and Roadhog. And, most importantly, this little tiny grub of a thing Roadhog was cradling in his arms. Their face was an angry reddish-purple shade, the eyes and pursed lips were scrunched up, but they weren't crying. And, more importantly, they were _there,_ impossibly small in Roadhog's arms. A baby, and some fucking melon. Junkrat reached out his arms towards Roadhog.

“Gimme,” he said. Roadhog stood and carefully deposited the blanket-wrapped baby into Junkrat's arms, placing the baby's head so it was cradled by the flesh one.

“Hey there, Nix,” said Junkrat, grinning down at the baby even though it felt like the effort of smiling could put him right back to sleep. He gently kissed the baby's forehead, then immediately glared up at Roadhog. “You bastard, you said you would wake me up when the doc brought them back.”

“Figured you needed the sleep,” said Roadhog. Junkrat had to admit to himself that that was probably true. Even after his however-long nap, he still felt like he could pass out at any moment. Rather than acknowledge that Roadhog had a point, Junkrat looked back down at the baby. He scrunched his face up to match Phoenix's, then relaxed it.

“Say,” he said gently. “Why do they look like a little old man?” Angela, emerging from some corner of her office, laughed gently. She looked like she'd been through hell and back – hairs loose from her neat ponytail, bluish bags under her eyes. Roadhog looked rough, too, but after years on the run together, Junkrat was used to seeing Roadhog look less than well-rested.

“That's just how newborns look, sometimes,” said the doctor. “Don't worry; within a few days, Phoenix should look a little more 'normal.'”

“No, no, no,” said Junkrat. “Nix is never gonna look 'normal.' Nix is perfect. Always gonna be.” The doctor laughed again.

“Forgive my mistake,” she said. She turned to Lucio and Hana. “It might be time for the new parents to bond with their child alone.” Both Lucio and Hana nodded and made for the door straight away.

“We'll see you later, guys,” said Lucio. “Congrats on the baby. They're beautiful!”

“Yeah, congrats on squeezing Phoenix out!” said Hana. “And look at that, you lived!”

“We're gonna have a big party for you, man,” said Lucio.

“…Maaaaaybe when you're a little less tired,” added Hana.

“Wait!” shouted Junkrat as they made to leave. The two turned in unison. “Can you check in on Scratch and Sniff? Food, water? Let 'em out, maybe?”

“Sure thing, bud,” said Lucio. Hana nodded.

“They're in good hands,” she said. She and Lucio started chatting about how cute the rats were (Junkrat silently agreed with them, but was too tired to shout after them), and then they were out of the room. And it was just him and Roadhog and the doctor, who quickly left their part of the med bay to give them some space.

“Look at that,” said Junkrat, staring down into Phoenix's opening eyes. Amber-brown, somewhere between his unnatural shade and the warm darkness of Roadhog's eyes. “We made that, Mako.”

“Sure did,” said Roadhog quietly, equally enraptured by the baby between them. Junkrat rested his head against Roadhog's shoulder.

“Can't believe it's been a whole year,” said Junkrat.

“Because it hasn't been,” said Roadhog. Junkrat jerked his head off Roadhog's shoulder.

“Thought the baby was right on time, though!” he said. “Shitfuck, did I do something wrong? Is the baby gonna be okay?” Roadhog chuckled, which Junkrat resented deeply. Then again, if something was wrong, Roadhog probably wouldn't have been laughing.

“Pregnancy's nine months, Jamie,” he said. Junkrat blinked.

“Oh,” he said. He shifted the baby to smack Mako in the chest. “Well, why didn'tcha tell me that? Spent the whole time thinkin' I was gonna be miserable for a year an' it was only nine months?” Roadhog sighed.

“Tried,” he said tiredly. Junkrat guessed he could believe that. He laid his head back on Roadhog's shoulder, his eyes still locked with Phoenix's, which tracked his motions. Good. Gotta stay alert in this world, no matter how much nicer this part of it was than Oz.

“We made 'em,” said Junkrat again.

“We made 'em,” repeated Roadhog.

“We're gonna give 'em everythin' we got,” said Junkrat. “And more.” He could've gone on, but he thought he saw tears forming in the big guy's eyes. Instead, he said:

“Love you, Mako.”

“Love you too, Jamie.”

“Love you, Phoenix.”

“Love you, Phoenix.”

And then drifted back to sleep, the baby safe in his arms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder that this is NOT the last chapter; there will be an epilogue, which should be up in a week. it'll be a bit short, though - around half the length of this chapter. 
> 
> never having given birth myself, I did the best I could with all of this. I hope you liked it! also the title is a reference to one of my favorite movies. couldn't think of anything better to call it.


	12. Epilogue: Go the Fuck to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. Having a baby is hard. Junkrat and Roadhog get a well-deserved nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry I didn't post this last week. I had it pretty much ready to go and then just... didn't post it. I think I just didn't want it to be over? but anyway, this chapter is a tiny bit conflict and a good amount of fluff. I wanted to get at least one post-baby chapter into this fic, so I hope you like it!

Junkrat was tired. Felt like he hadn't slept at all in months. Which wasn't that far from the truth. The only reason he knew that it hadn't been years since he'd last slept was that Phoenix was that the passage of time hadn't turned Phoenix into a teenager yet. No, they were still this tiny little miraculous thing that wouldn't let him fucking sleep. 

Not that he hadn't spent months being near-completely sleepless before. No, years on the run had taught him to doze off whenever he could, keeping alert for any noise that might mean something was amiss at the same time. It was just that he wasn't used to that anymore. Call it going soft, but his body was not accustomed to spending this long without a full night's sleep. 

Why did babies have to cry so much, anyway? It wasn't like they had overwhelming psychological issues yet or anything. Unless, oh shit, unless he'd fucked up so badly as a parent that Phoenix already did have overwhelming psychological issues. Torturous brain-soup full of rusty nails and biting monsters just like their dear old dad. Roadhog promised him that it was just because babies were so new that they cried all the time. The world was a swirling mass of color and light and noise to them, and they didn't understand any of it or know how to tell people what was wrong. Junkrat guessed he could relate to that. 

Any time Phoenix was sleeping was a bloody miracle. Amber eyes closed, sweet, no longer old-man-looking face relaxed into a soft, gentle expression. They looked so much like Roadhog that Junkrat could cry – cute, squishy nose, light brown skin, those full lips and impressive eyebrows. Well, the last one might've come from both of them. In fact, Junkrat sometimes thought that he cried over the baby almost as much as the baby cried over… whatever it was they cried over. Tears landing on their perfect little face. He'd thought that once the pregnancy had ended he'd go back to not crying constantly, but a few months into actual parenthood and he still felt more than a little hormonal. Angela had thought it best to wait a while before going back on T, but honestly Junkrat wished that he could start right away. Not just because he was tired of being off the juice, but because maybe it'd cancel out the pregnancy (post-pregnancy, now) hormones and stop the endless flow of tears that happened at literally any emotion he was experiencing. 

Though maybe some sleep could help him, too. 

Right now, railing against sleep felt like a losing battle. He was on the floor with the baby, who happily lay on their back, making gurgling and cooing noises as they grabbed at the little brightly-colored toys that dangled over their face. Not crying. Just making those contented little sounds that played gently on Junkrat's ears like Lucio's “chill” music. Nix laughed and kicked their chubby little legs. They got distracted from the kicking and bent their leg around to stick their own foot in their mouth. It was a weird little foot, kind of squarish. Roadhog sometimes caught one of them in his large palm, cradled it, and called Nix “block-foot,” which Junkrat thought was. Just the cutest.

“That's your foot, you silly tit,” said Junkrat, smiling wearily at this weird little creature that'd come out of his body. Phoenix turned onto their side to face their dad and reached out for a tuft of his hair with a tiny hand. They tugged on the patch, but, finding that they weren't able to get the hair into their mouth, rolled back over and reacquainted their gummy mouth with their toes. Smiling still, Junkrat felt his eyelids start to slip closed. He told himself to stay awake, but the call of utter exhaustion was just too strong. In spite of his heroic efforts, he dropped off into sleep with baby block-foot still next to him. 

He had no idea how long it had been when a knock on the door and a wailing shriek woke him. Horrified that he had left Phoenix alone for even a minute, he scooped the crying baby into his arms and headed for the door. 

“Hey, Junkrat!” said Hana as soon as he had opened it. “We're just here to….” She and Lucio stopped and stared at Junkrat and Nix with horrified expressions. 

“Shit,” said Lucio. “Did we do that?” 

“Nah,” said Junkrat. “Or, kinda. But Nix cries at everything. 'S what babies do, apparently.” He yawned and leaned up against the door frame. 

“Dude,” said Lucio frankly. “You look like you need a nap.” 

“OOOOH!” said Hana loudly, making Phoenix cry even harder. Junkrat glared at her, and Hana had the good grace to look apologetic and lower her voice to an excited whisper. “I've got an idea! Why don’t we babysit for you while you and Roadhog take a nap? I bet he's pretty tired too, right?” 

“You're not wrong there,” said Junkrat. Roadhog was used to going without sleep, too, and he'd had a baby before and everything, but the bluish circles under his eyes were starting to get pretty dark. “Sounds good to me, mate. Lemme go get Roadhog and–”

“No,” said Roadhog, emerging from the bathroom with wet hair. He was already wearing his street clothes, though not his mask. 

“What?” asked Junkrat. 

“No,” said Roadhog. “We can take care of Phoenix ourselves. I'll watch them while Rat sleeps.” Junkrat grinned apologetically at his friends. 

“Gimme a tick,” he said. “I gotta talk to Roadie alone. Be over in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door in Hana and Lucio's faces. He could hear the confused mumbling on the other side of the door.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded at a whisper, moving closer to Roadhog and shifting Phoenix to one arm while he gestured to the door with the other. “We let people babysit Nix all the time! Cool Gram, Beardy, Pink Lady and Mei…” Phoenix was still wailing up a storm; Junkrat rubbed their back and shifted from one leg to the other, making little hushing noises as he did. He was angry at Roadhog, sure, but he'd learned quickly that his feelings had to come second. Unless he wanted more screaming, that was. 

“Yeah, but they're all…” started Roadhog. 

“They're all what?” asked Junkrat. 

“You know,” said Roadhog. Phoenix continued to scream. “Here, give them to me.” Lips pursed, Junkrat passed Nix over to Roadhog, who took them with the utmost care. Almost immediately, the baby went quiet. Junkrat felt a little disheartened, but he couldn't really blame the kid – who wouldn't prefer big, warm hands to Junkrat's scrawny skin and bone and metal arms? 

“No, I don't know,” said Junkrat, a little calmer now that nothing was grating on his ears, but still unquestionably irritated.

“They're all adults,” said Roadhog. Junkrat remembered alley cats back in Oz, skinny little patchy things that somehow managed to survive the radiation poisoning. He remembered how their fur would bristle up when someone tried petted them the wrong way. That was how he felt at that moment. 

“Lucio and Hana are adults!” he protested. “Well, Hana just barely, but Lucio's, what? A year older'n me or somethin'!” Roadhog looked down at Nix, clearly uncomfortable. 

“It's different,” he said quietly. 

“Because they're my friends?” asked Junkrat. “They look after Scratch and Sniff all the time!”

“Rats are different than babies,” said Roadhog. Junkrat's frown deepened. 

“I know that!” he snapped, then softened again at Phoenix's uneasy gurgle. “Own up to it, Mako – you don't trust my friends with the baby because you don't trust me with the baby.” 

“That's not it,” said Roadhog firmly. “Jamison, you're a great father, I just… I don't want anything to happen to the baby. Ana and Torbjorn are parents already, and Zarya and Mei… they're very…”

“Responsible?” asked Junkrat. Roadhog nodded sheepishly. Junkrat could've smiled at that if he weren't so annoyed; when he'd first met Roadhog, he wouldn't've thought the word “sheepish” would come to mind in a million years. 

“Haven't you seen Lucio on the field?” he said. “Zipping around, always taking care of everyone. He's on top of shit, love. And Hana… well, she runs around in a self-destructing robot suit and spouts gamer nonsense, so I guess I can understand that. But she's old enough to look after a baby for a couple hours. Even if she's not, it's not like she could break the baby with Lucio around to heal them up.” The last joke did not seem to sit well with Roadhog, who grimaced at the comment. 

“Kidding!” said Junkrat quickly. “Kidding, kidding, of course!” He leaned in closer to Roadhog, prodded at his tired face. “You need to sleep, Mako. And this way you won't have to watch over Phoenix while I lie around like a lump. We can lie around like lumps together.” 

“Does sound nice,” admitted Roadhog. Junkrat grinned, knowing that he had won. 

“Don't it?” he asked. “So lemme go grab Hana and Lucio and we can have a nice kip.” Roadhog still looked worried as he gazed into Phoenix's giant eyes, but he nodded all the same. “Good. Now, come with me and apologize, alroight?” 

Junkrat went back over to the door, Roadhog following closed behind him with Nix in his arms (or, more like in his hands. Small baby, big hands). When he opened the door he was only half-surprised to see Hana and Lucio still standing there. Lucio elbowed Hana. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to cross any boundaries or anything. I just thought it could be a good idea, y'know? Friends help each other out with things like this.” Now it was Junkrat's turn to elbow his partner. 

“Sorry,” said Roadhog, but didn't elaborate any further. Junkrat huffed. 

“He's just a bit touchy about leaving the baby with new people,” he said. “Not that you're new or anythin'. Just haven't been vetted yet. Now's your chance to prove yourselves.” Lucio looked like he might be sweating a little bit at the challenge – he'd never quite gotten over his Roadhog anxiety – but Hana put her hand to her forehead in a mock-salute. 

“We are up to the challenge!” she said. “Right, Lucio?” 

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing and falling into a more relaxed posture, hands in the pockets of those giant cargo pants he liked wearing so much. “We'll take really good care of Nix. I even cued up some sweet tunes I think they might like. I could make you a mixtape if it works out.” 

“See Roadie?” asked Junkrat. “They'll be in good hands.” Roadhog grunted and said nothing, but handed the baby over to Lucio with the utmost care. Then, silently, he reached down by the door and handed Hana the baby bag he had ready for all their sitters. 

“Be careful,” he almost-threatened. 

“The carefullest,” said Hana, Lucio returning to his voiceless state. The two were about to head back out the door when Junkrat half shouted, “Wait!” Lucio turned around, and Junkrat leaned down to kiss the top of Nix's soft, downy head. 

“Love you Nix,” he said. Lucio and Hana shared a smile and then left, Phoenix making their happy baby sounds at the two of them. Junkrat turned to Roadhog with a self-satisfied grin. 

“Look at how well Lucio was supporting their head!” he said. Roadhog just grunted in halfhearted agreement. Junkrat's smile fell. He walked over to Roadhog's side and leaned his head against his arm. Standing there like that, arms wrapped around Roadhog's, head resting on the toughened skin of his bicep, he almost fell asleep again.

“They're gonna be fine,” he said, rubbing his hand over Roadhog's arm. Roadhog sighed. 

“I know they are,” he said. He pressed a quick kiss to Junkrat's forehead. Junkrat, unable to reach Roadhog's lips, kissed his shoulder in return. 

“Now,” said Junkrat. “Can we finally go the fuck to sleep?” 

“Yeah,” replied Roadhog. “I think so.”

It was the best nap they'd ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yup. that's it. end of the fic. this is the longest thing I've actually ever written, so cheers for me! I want to give a shout out to my friend cassondra, who was always there to help me sort through ideas for this fic. I also wanted to thank all of you guys. seeing your comments and kudos really helped me keep going and actually finish writing this. I've ditched out on so many projects before, and your encouragement is a big part of why I made it through the whole story. getting support from other trans people was especially motivating. and I'm happy with it, too! 
> 
> I'm probably not going to end the story here, though. I'm planning a sequel, mostly little vignettes about the junkers and their baby. I dunno when it'll come out, but I do plan to do more with this little 'verse of mine. thank you all for sticking with this story and giving it the love it needed to grow!


End file.
